Trouble Is A Friend
by A Girl In NYC
Summary: I would be lying if I said I wasn't afraid of him. I was, and he knew I was. Being married to Calvin Candie was like walking on broken glass your whole life. One misstep and you're in deep trouble. Really deep trouble. Calvin/OC.
1. ONE

_A/N: So I saw "Django" and I loved it. Quentin's amazing. I hated Calvin, but his character was so well written and acted by Leo. I was watching it and thought up a storyline if Calvin had a wife [what would that be like?] that was against slavery and she helped Django and King. So here's the first chapter. There's language that was in the movie that I do not approve of, and I am only using it because of the film's language. Other than that, please review and let me know how you like it! Thanks!_

**ONE**

"Gwen! Gwen, let Stephen or one of the girls do that. Get ready, darlin'. Now you're gonna to be late for Calvin. He's almost ready. You know how he is when you're late."

I bit my lip in frustration, rolling my eyes when I heard the annoying voice of my sister-in-law behind me. I wiped the table clean one more time with the rag from the kitchen, then reached over and grabbed the two champagne glasses off the cherry hardwood table. I swirled around to face my husband's sister, the forty-something Southern belle who's light brown hair was twirled fancily and her bright pink dress overwhelming. Her smile was faked and forced like always, the age lines and wrinkles proving me right.

I gave an obviously fake smile back, "Unlike you Lara, I can clean up after myself." I pushed past her, "Calvin can wait." Her face fell and she looked annoyed. I gave her a smug, fake smile.

"Racist bitch." I muttered under my breath as I went into the kitchen. I began walking into the kitchen were the girls were working, preparing Lara's dinner for her and her friends that she was going to have over the plantation while Calvin and I were at the Cleopatra Club.

"Hello, Madame Candie. The dinner will be ready for Miss Candie-Fitzwilly and her guests real soon, I swear." Cora greeted me, mixing a bowl of God knows what hastily, much like the rest of the girls in the kitchen. As always, they looked focused, anxious, and nervous. I smiled at her, and patted her shoulder, "Cora, it's okay. Calvin's upstairs."

Cora gave me a small smile of gratitude.

Since the arranged marriage of Calvin J. Candie and I, I felt like I was the only sane person in the household. He was almost nine years older than myself. When I was at the age of twenty, I had married Calvin. I was born and raised in the North, my family poverty-stricken, living in Boston, Massachusetts. I had no accent, which made Calvin—who's accent was really thick—and I an odd couple.

My father knew Calvin's father, but had died when I was about fourteen. My mother had arranged the marriage to the wealthy plantation owner in order to ensure that I'd be a wealthy girl. I was quite literally forced into the marriage. I was never given the option of marrying anyone else, and _believe_ me I would rather _be_ with anyone else.

Gwendolyn Candie. Didn't really roll off the tongue.

I didn't believe in slavery. I hated it. To harm or to sell or to whip or kill a human being just because of their skin color was despicable. I simply wasn't raised to believe that blacks were lower than myself. Calvin knew this, and was repulsed and scolded me irritadedly if I was friendly or didn't punish the slaves he kept on the plantation.

Calvin was so erratic and unpredictable, and not to mention violent, that it was challenging being married to him.

Calvin was an asshole.

We had a turbulent love-hate relationship. He never apologized for anything. He always pretended that he didn't know he was the reason why I cried when I did. He never was hesitant to hit me. He didn't do it that often, and he swore he never _really _hurt me, and he claimed he didn't want to. Yet, the beatings always showed bruises on my back or on my arms, and occasionally if he was really mad at me, a bloody nose. He only did it as punishment, when I'd say something about the slaves that he disagreed with or if one of the slaves did something that he thought deserved punishment and I didn't give one. Occasionally if we would get in a fight, he would lose his temper—and it wasn't hard for him to lose—and he'd swing. Our marriage was turbulent, and we were opposites. In spite of that, he loved me. And deep down, a little bit of me loved him, too. Just not the horrific things he did.

He was a friend and a foe at the same time. He was in my heart, but sometimes I just wanted to reach in and rip him right the hell out.

I hated having his hillbilly sister in the house. She lived with us after her husband died. Lara and I saw things totally differently, and I found her repulsive and troublesome. She didn't like me married to her little brother, and that I was a slut that wasn't worth his time. She had said on a variety of different occasions that Calvin needed a pretty Southern belle to make him happy, but Calvin would insist that I was what he wanted. She'd even arranged different friends of hers for him to be with, but he rejected her. We could not stand each other, and everyone on the Candie plantation—Candieland, as Calvin obnoxiously named it—knew it.

I raked a hand in my pale blond hair and stood against the counter next to Cora, leaning against it. "Do you need help making anything?" I asked, looking at her.

I knew Calvin would be infuriated if I helped the kitchen girls—he'd yelled at me before—but I wasn't really caring what he thought in the moment. Cora stopped stirring and was about to say something when the door of the kitchen flew open with a bang.

"_Hey_!" Stephen's frightening voice bellowed as he entered the kitchen, "You girls get the _fuck_ back to work!"

The girls instantly went back to work, and Cora buried her face in the bowl she was mixing, avoiding all eye contact with Stephen and I. Stephen scared everyone, including myself. I couldn't stand him—just like the majority of the plantation—and always jumped out of my skin when he yelled. He was Calvin's favorite, and they always joked around and confided in each other.

I glared at him, "Stephen, I was talking to Cora."

"Calvin wants ya upstairs." Stephen said, feebly walking into the kitchen.

He was tall, taller than myself, and old. Stephen walked with a cane and wobbled when he sauntered around. He swore constantly, and was the head slave in the house, but seemed more like a good friend of Calvin's. Before I could reply, I heard a loud yell from upstairs.

"_NOW_ _WHERE IS MY BEAUTIFUL WIFE_?"

Calvin's scream was so loud, the whole plantation heard it.

His thick Southern accent hit my eardrums, and instantly I knew I better get upstairs to get ready. Going out with Calvin and hanging off his arm had its fun, but I was often humiliated and annoyed at him for what he said or what he did. Whether it was saying the word _nigger _all the time or discussing the plantation and his slaves, he always managed to humiliate me with the language he used.

I rushed past Stephen who gruffly muttered "told ya so" as I exited the kitchen, flinging the door behind me. I walked out into the massive foyer and upstairs, my bare feet quickly climbing up the stairs. I raced across the hallway of the upstairs, which had more rooms than I could count, until I stopped at me and Calvin's bedroom. I opened the door.

I quickly stood in front of the oval mirror near the massive bed and began stripping, taking off my dress until I was in my underwear and bra. I sprinted to the closet, savagely rummaging in it to find the dress I was going to wear to the Cleopatra Club tonight. I grabbed a dark green, low-cut dress out of the closet and slammed the closet shut, walking back over to the oval mirror.

Our bedroom was beautiful and lovely, and cozy, with a massive bed and window looking out to the plantation. The window was open and the candle holder held about five candles that were lit, dancing in the summer night. The night was thick with heat, the humidity high in the Mississippi summer.

"Darling, you goin' like that tonight?"

I looked up at the mirror to see Calvin by the door, smiling deviantly at my reflection, blowing out rings of smoke, holding his long white cigarette holder in his hand. He eyed my almost naked body up and down, a grin curling on his lips.

"I think I'd be the most envied man in the Club if ya did."

He walked to me and stood behind me. He was taller than me by at least seven inches, so he leaned down a little and kissed my cheek. I smiled a little, "You know I'm not." I was leaning into him and pressing my head to his chest affectionately.

"You weren't helpin' those niggers in the kitchen, were you?" He asked icily, kissing my ear. I swallowed hard, and shook my head no. He smirked and said, "Good, good." He smelt like smoke, cologne and whiskey, and I loved that smell. I turned my head and looked up at Calvin, and he pressed his lips to mine.

He snaked his arms around my bare hips, hooking his thumbs around the tips of my underwear. His cigarette hung out of his mouth. He pulled at my underwear teasingly, looking down at me in the mirror, his reflection studying mine. His fingers disappeared under the lining. I squirmed a little.

"Calvin, stop." I murmured, breaking out of his arms and breaking out of the kiss.

I would be lying if I said I wasn't afraid of him. I was, and he knew I was. Being married to Calvin Candie was like walking on broken glass your whole life. One misstep and you're in deep shit. Really deep shit.

His blue eyes looked irritated. He wasn't teasing anymore, and he rolled his eyes at me as I put on my dress. I looked in the mirror and tossed my hair around until the blond hair was flowing past my breasts in waves. I straightened up in the mirror, and bit my lip when I noticed the bruise from Calvin on my arm from a few nights ago. I noted mentally I'd have to cover it up before we left the plantation for the Cleopatra Club.

"Aw, Gwen. I can't give my wife a little bit a love?" He said in my ear, blowing rings of smoke out.

"Not tonight." I replied, giving him an annoyed glance. He narrowed his eyes at me, but his small smile didn't disappear. I knew that look of annoyance.

"Fine. Get your fancy lil' ass movin', sweetheart. We're gonna be late." He said, irritated, giving me a quick smack on my behind.

I jumped a little, and watched him as he walked out of the bedroom and out to the foyer, hearing his footsteps clunk down the staircase. I sighed a sigh of relief once he left the room. I was married to the Master of the house.

_And_ a monster.


	2. TWO

_Thank you so much for the lovely reviews for chapter one!  
I hope you readers like Gwen, and for that matter, Gwen and Calvin's relationship.  
Let me know if I'm keeping Calvin in character.  
Reviews would be fantastic!_

**TWO**

Cora made the finishing touches to my dress, the inner corset's strings laced up neatly and tightly. I gasped for breath, fanning myself. It was bad enough that Mississippi summer nights were around eighty-five degrees, never mind wearing a corset that doesn't let you breath enough. A few of the girls were helping me get ready while Calvin waited downstairs.

I looked in the mirror near me and Calvin's bed. I wore a dark green Southern dress that had a shallow cut at the top, with a necklace that was a wedding gift from Calvin. My hair fell on my breasts in waves. I grimaced at the reflection, hoping I didn't look like Lara, because I sure as hell felt like her. Cora watched me as I looked at myself in the mirror, and I looked up at her, feeling really self-conscious.

"Do I look bad? _Please_ be brutal." I said, biting my lip.

She shook her head, giving me a small, knowing smile, "You look real beautiful, Mrs. Candie."

We both stopped when we heard Calvin scream from downstairs, "_LET'S GO, DARLIN'_!"

"Thank you so much for everything, Cora. You're always a wonderful help, really." I said sincerely, giving her a warm glance.

"Yes, ma'am." Cora replied, bowing her head a little.

She exited the room and I heard her walk down the stairs. I wished she would call me Gwen, but Calvin would never allow that. Cora, like the rest of the slaves on the plantation, knew I wasn't like Calvin. They knew I was his opposite, and I got the feeling they wondered why I was there or why I was married to the thirty-three-year-old assshole of a plantation owner. Did they talk about us? About the fights we had?

_Did ya hear how Monsieur Candie wants a baby, but Madame don't think she's ready__?  
__Madame Candie hates Mrs. Candie-Fitzwilly. Did ya'll hear the bickering?  
__Monsieur and Madame Candie were havin' sex like wild animals last night. Did ya hear it?_

There was plenty to gossip about.

Standing next to each other, Calvin and I looked like a perfectly matched couple, but our inner selves clashed. I was the Northern girl with no accent who had quite literally no money to her name, and he was the Southern boy with a really thick Mississippi accent with more wealth than I knew.

Calvin and I clashed on more than just slavery, even though that was the biggest thing we clashed on. We clashed about whether or not to have Lara live at the plantation—I said I wanted her out, Calvin said she was family—we clashed about whether to have a baby or not—Calvin wanted a little one, but I didn't want one that would live, be born and raised in a violent place like Candieland—and so on. Eventually I would pressure Calvin to get Lara out, just like he eventually would pressure me into getting pregnant and having a baby with him. Until then, the two of us were stubborn, and we butted heads more often than not.

I really did love him, but it was like loving Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. For a minute he'd be funny and sweet, and pretty loving. The next, Calvin didn't hesitate to scream or hit. I saw more Dr. Jekyll than Mr. Hyde, thank God, because, in truth, Calvin frightened me beyond belief sometimes.

I was a sucker for his charm.

He had this confidence about him that I seriously found difficult to avoid. He was like a disease, take it from me. He was charismatic, and this charm he would use usually left me dumbfounded. I would be so infuriated with him, and he would look at me a certain way, take a drag from his cigarette, blow out a ring of smoke, and give this charming, yet smug smile. He would charm his way out of it, and I was always left feeling shocked. He was like a snake, and he knew how smooth he was. He used it to his advantage. I hated the way he made me feel.

I gave an ugly, disapproving look at my reflection, figuring it had to do for tonight, and that if Calvin didn't like it, he could put up or shut up. I quickly grabbed my hand purse off the bed and ran for the door.

I walked out of the bedroom and to the hallway. The house smelt like firewood and freshly cut grass, and I could hear the crickets chirping in the summer night. I looked out to the front foyer, where Calvin stood there with Lara, with Stephen and Cora off to the side. Lara had on her fake smile again, but was no doubtfully bad talking me to Calvin before I came out of our bedroom. I didn't know why she even bothered faking the smile anymore. Everyone—including the two of us—knew we didn't like each other.

"Jesus, darlin'!" Calvin exclaimed, sauntering to the last step on the staircase to greet me, "My God. I've never seen ya look so goddamn beautiful."

I felt my lips tug into a smile, geniunely happy he approved. Calvin was a monster—a cold-blooded, heartless bastard—but every woman wants their husband to look at them like that at one point in life or another.

Calvin wore a dark, blood red smoking jacket with a white collared shirt, deep red tie and a red and gold vest underneath. He looked arrogant, high class and like the wealthy bastard he was when he wore it, but I'd be lying if I said he didn't look handsome. He bowed a little bit to me, with his charm on.

Calvin reached for my hand, gently taking it in his, and kissed it, smirking up at me with that charming glance. He let go of my hand, and reached his arm out for me to take. I put my arm around his, glancing at him hesitantly. He took me by the arm and kissed my cheek, and I could smell his scent of cologne, whiskey and cigarette smoke. Calvin seemed like he was in a much brighter, better mood than he was previously upstairs, and I tried to soak it in before he became irritated again.

"Look at her, ain't she beautiful?" Calvin bragged, walking with me to the open door, the carriage waiting for us out by the front gates of the plantation. Lara gave me an annoyed, irritated glance, but her slightly wrinkled mouth twitched into a smile.

She scoffed a bit and pursed her lips; she was able to choke out of her mouth, "Oh Calvin, she looks gorgeous, a'right."

"Oh ya, Calvin, she beautiful, ain't she?" Stephen agreed enthusiastically, nodding his head in approval, "Look at 'er!"

I knew him and Lara didn't mean what they said. Not that I cared what they thought, but I knew the two of them couldn't stand me. They both kissed Calvin's ass, and they would say anything to please him. Stephen worshiped the ground Calvin strutted on—and Calvin _did_ strut—and Lara felt possessiveness over him, I was pretty positive. She wanted the best for him, and she bluntly told me that I wasn't it.

"Cora's the one who helped me get ready," I said to Calvin, "So all thanks should go to her."

Cora looked embarrassed to have the spotlight on her, but she smiled a little and gave a little bow to me in silent thanks. I gladly smiled back. Lara glared at me, giving a scoff at me and giving me a once-over. Calvin looked at me, arching his eyebrow and cocking his head a little bit, silently questioning me as to why I was thanking a slave. It was the elephant in the room, that I was the awkward Northerner who "didn't know her goddamn place on this plantation", as Lara had bluntly once put it to Calvin. Calvin smiled a little and with his eyebrow still arched, with the same mocking, quizzical look on his face, and looked at Cora.

"Thank ya Cora, for makin' my wife look so beautiful." He nodded to her uncertainly. It didn't sound genuine, which I knew of course it wasn't. It sounded like he literally forced himself to spit it out. I sighed and Calvin straightened up, looking at me. He cleared his throat.

"Now, if ya'll will excuse us, Gwen and I will make our way to the Cleopatra Club. Come on, darling." Calvin said, taking me and walking out the front door into the hot summer night. We made our way to the carriage, and Calvin gave me his hand to help me in. I accepted, slipping my hand in his, and sitting up in the carriage and waited for Calvin to come in. He came in right after me.

"Go." He snapped to the carriage driver, and instantly, we were in motion, riding down the narrow dirt road lined with cotton fields, leaving the Candie plantation in the distance with each creak of the carriage's wheels. Calvin took a deep, long drag from his cigarette, holding it in his long white cigarette holder. He blew out rings of smoke in the twilight air, then cleared his throat.

"Sweetheart, why do ya always do that?" He said, looking at me, "Givin' them niggers somethin' to be proud of?"

"_Calvin_." I sighed exasperatedly, "Stop it. And stop using that word. It's a terrible thing to say. You know it's degrading."

He glared at me, raising his voice, "Well what the fuck do ya expect me to call 'em?"

"Not a _nigger_!" I snapped at him, "I don't want my husband using words like that. Just for tonight, Calvin, for God's sakes! Don't use that word. It's degrading, ruthless and inhumane. Cut the shit. And I give Cora credit because she helps me out, much like the rest of the slaves working on your plantation."

I sat upwards, leaving him leaning back. I knew he rolled his eyes, I could feel it.

He raised his eyebrows at me, "Jesus, fine! Fine. You and your fancy Northern ways. Look, I really don't wanna fight tonight. I just wanna spend time with my lovely wife, a'right? No fightin', just a night were we're civil."

He put his hand on my back and rubbed it gently, attempting to get me in a better mood, to apologize without actually apologizing. He leaned up and kissed my ear, and I felt myself loosen up a little. Without realizing, I felt my lips tug at a smile. He always gave me feelings I didn't want to fight, and if I did try to fight them, I'd lose. I didn't know how he did that, but he did. His arm reached around my hips and brought me into him. I sighed and looked at him, then down to my hands that were in my lap. I twirled my wedding ring around my finger.

"Come now, sweetheart." He murmured in my ear, his Southern drawl smooth, and kissed my cheek. "Gwen, I mean it." I let my guard down and leaned into him, putting my head in the crook of his neck, and said, "You're right."

"Good." He exclaimed, and pressed his lips to mine, putting his arm around me.

I leaned back, resting against him. We were going to the Cleopatra Club, and if I had to watch or witness a Mandingo fight, I was going to be mad. The first time I had witnessed the fights of slaves that Calvin betted on, it was four years ago, when we had first gotten married. It had disturbed me so much that I had sobbed, and hadn't spoken to Calvin for three weeks. I hated the Cleopatra Club, and never knew what was going to happen.

Calvin pressed his lips to my forehead.

Little did I know who we were going to meet tonight, and the chaos and trouble that would soon unravel.


	3. THREE

_Thank you so, so much for the reviews! I'm so happy that the response to Calvin and Gwen's relationship is positive.  
I'm trying to make this a bit longer, so I'm just __explaining things that happen between the two of them.  
King & Django will be in the next chapter, but the main focus with continue to be Gwen and Calvin.  
**Please review, they inspire me! Thanks!**_

**THREE**

I bit my lip as the carriage pulled up to the city apartment Calvin owned, the Cleopatra Club.

It was beautiful, with white stone exterior with plants decorating the outside, ivy clinging to the doorway. Black gates were opened for us at the front, and a cobblestone walkway led to the front doors, which had a statues of Cleopatra on either side. I glanced up at the Club once the carriage stopped, pushing a strand of blond hair behind my ear.

I didn't really want to go to the Cleopatra Club, and I knew Mandingo fights were all that were on Calvin's mind. He flashed me a crooked grin, getting out of the carriage first and offering his hand to help me out. I put my hand in his and got out of the carriage, linking my arm with his and hanging off of him. We began walking to the Club, and I inhaled deeply, prepping myself for the horrors that lay inside.

Calvin would put on a show for his friends and associates, like he always did.

He always put on this act that we had this blissful, happy marriage. We did, only occasionally. His friends clearly believed his act, because I felt the jealousy when they looked at Calvin. Wealthy man, massive plantation, pretty wife. Little did his friends know that we had fights, we bickered. Calvin and I had an active, lively sex life—but it really wasn't always so gentle. It occasionally happened after the fights we had, rushed and in the moment; it would be aggressive and violent. In those times, I felt like I didn't hate _anyone_ more than Calvin Candie. Then, there was times where he was gentle and intimate, and at those times, I didn't love anyone _more_ than him.

We arrived inside the front foyer, greeted by one of Calvin's slaves at the Cleopatra Club, Coco. She was clad in a French maid uniform. She was a pretty girl, sweet and had a thick Southern accent. She curtsied a bit to the two of us, and she said politely and sweetly, "Good evenin', Monsieur and Madame Candie."

Calvin's obsession with French culture never made sense to me. He was an American Southerner, born and raised, but he insisted that the two of us be addressed as _Monsieur _and_ Madame _Candie_._ I didn't understand his logic, so I never asked.

I nodded to her and gave her a small smile, and Coco left to get Calvin's lawyer and friend, Leo Moguy. Once the two of us were alone in the fancy, massive foyer, I ran a hand in my hair, stressed. Calvin grabbed my hand and set it down beside me.

"Stop fidgetin'. You look beautiful, darlin'." Calvin soothed, "And try to be nice to Leo and Butch, a'right? Now I know ya don't like 'em, but Gwen, just _try_ to be nice." I shot him at look in reply, and he raised his cigarette to his lips and took a drag, afterwards blowing out smoke. He looked at me, puzzled, "What?"

"Calvin...you aren't betting on Mandingos tonight, are you?"I asked, glancing up at him worriedly.

He looked at me indifferently, but before he could say anything, Coco and Leo came waltzing in. Leo grinned at Calvin, grabbing his shoulder and shaking his hand with a manly, firm grip. Calvin grinned back and did the same, slapping him on the back.

"Leo, you goddamn bastard. How ya been?" Calvin exclaimed happily, blowing out a cloud of smoke.

Leo, his lawyer, was just as annoying and repulsive in personality as the rest of Calvin's friends and family. He, like the rest of the people I knew in the South, gave off the feeling that he didn't think Calvin should have married me. He knew my beliefs, and he and I always had an awkward relationship. At me and Calvin's wedding, he'd gotten so drunk that he had slung an arm around Calvin and exclaimed how I was a nigger-loving whore. He was Calvin's sleazy and shady friend, and that's all I saw him as and that's all he ever would be.

"Good, Calvin, good. I see you brought the missus." Leo said politely, taking off his hat and bowing a bit to me, "Lovely to see ya again, Gwen." I smiled a little and shifted uncomfortably next to Calvin, but choked out, "Always nice to see you, Leo."

"Now you folks better come on upstairs to join us, ya hear?" Leo said, nodding to Calvin, and winked.

Calvin nodded knowingly in response with a small grin, "We'll be up after dinner. Save some of that whiskey for me, ya son-of-a-bitch."

Leo chuckled and nodded, bidding Calvin and I goodbye until after dinner. I looked at Calvin suspiciously as Leo made his way up the staircase, disappearing up to the second floor. I didn't want to ruin the night, and it seemed like Calvin was pretty happy. Calvin looked back at me, "Ya ready for dinner, Gwen?"

I gave him a genuine smile and sighed, "Yeah. Let's go."

After a few minutes we were seated in the restaurant section at the Cleopatra Club. Calvin was so showy, strutting in with an air of arrogance, like he usually did. I hung off his arm and played the role he wanted me to play. The pretty little wife who had no opinions, the young wife that agreed with everything her husband said. We were seated, and Calvin lit his cigarette, taking a drag while the tip's embers burned as he did so. He released it and blew out a long streak of smoke, tapping the cigarette's ash onto one of the small appetizer plates with his index finger.

Calvin ordered champagne for me and burbon for himself, and like always, it was on the house.

Being married to Calvin Candie was weird for me during our first few months of being newlyweds. I wasn't used to being catered to and waited on hand and foot. I wasn't used to wearing expensive clothes, and wearing jewelry that back in Boston I'd have to prostitute myself for. Calvin was used to the life of luxury, given that his father was wealthy as hell and passed it on to him. Calvin grew up on the massive plantation, in the mansion that we now lived in. I grew up in a small, tin-box of an apartment in the North End of Boston. I just wasn't used to it, and I still wasn't. I was awkward about it. Calvin, on the other hand, was a master at it.

During drinks, it was lovely.

Calvin and I had a really nice conversation, not involving anything we usually argued about. We laughed, we talked. I didn't want to ruin this, so I didn't bring up the Mandingo fights for the time being. I loved moments like this, when Calvin was sweet and charismatic. I loved the way he'd give a smirk, take a drag from his cigarette, blow out smoke and say something charming in that Southern drawl of his.

"Ya don't mind if we go upstairs to see Butch and Leo after dinner, sweetheart?" Calvin asked, putting out his cigarette, "It'll just be drinks, Gwen."

I smiled at him, "Yeah, darling. I'll come with you."

It was weird to see him be so sweet and charming after seeing how he acted when he was mad. I remembered once when he found out that I secretly helped the girls in the kitchen make dinner after helping out the men in the cotton field out back by giving them water. Stephen had been watching the whole time, unbeknownst to me. He told on me, reporting to Calvin like the snitch he was.

_"Did you help them niggers in that goddamn kitchen?" He snapped, pointing his cigarette holder to the door of the kitchen, "You better tell me now, Gwen."_

_We were in his study, the fire roaring beside us in the grand fireplace on the wall, bookshelves lining the walls. It was a night in the December of the second year of our marriage. I stood there, tears brimming my red-rimmed eyes, glaring at him with fear and infuriation. I felt my breathing quicken, stressing as Calvin shouted at me. His voice was __absolutely terrifying when he yelled, and I was genuinely petrified._

_"Yes. So what if I did? You going to lynch me? Whip me? Order Butch or Stephen to have dogs rip me apart?" I snapped back at him._

_Calvin's eye twitched in infuriation. His blue eyes got a dark, sadistic look in them. In that instant, I knew it was the worst thing to ever say. Never talk back. Before I could even say another word, or figure out what was happening, Calvin smacked my face so hard, I swear the study was spinning. It knocked me to the hardwood floor with a thump, and instant pain hit my face. My face was throbbing. Tears streaked down my cheeks. I glanced up at Calvin, not believing what he had just done._

_"I strictly told ya_ not_ to help those goddamn niggers! You live under my roof, you obey my rules. You are my wife, and you will treat me with the utmost respect. You treat me the way a wife is suppose to treat her husband, and that means doing what I tell ya to do. Which includes not helping the fucking niggers!" He shouted._

_I quickly stood back up._

_"Respect you?" I scoffed, "I will _never_ respect you! You're not worth the trouble! You're a sick bastard. You're arrogant, vile and you have absolutely no regard for humanity!" I snapped at him, tears hitting my lips, "You have no heart, Calvin. You make me fucking sick!" __I turned quickly and walked out of the room. _

_That didn't stop Calvin._

_He was ready to go in for the kill. He was in the most intense rage I had ever witnessed him in. I ran out of his study in terror, out into the foyer. I heard him coming after me. He was screaming, "Fuck you, Gwen! Goddamn it! Fuck you!"_

_Everyone on the plantation heard his screaming, it was so loud._

_The slaves in the kitchen peered out into the foyer, wondering what in the name of God was happening._

_He chased me through the mansion._

_I ran for my life. I ran up the stairs, thumping up them in panic. I ran up into the hallway and into our bedroom. I was in such a panic, so absolutely terrified, that I didn't even remember to shut and lock the door. Calvin stormed in quickly after me, slamming the door with a massive bang, backing me up against the end of the bed, his chest raising up and down in pure and utter rage. _

_"What are you going to do? Hit me, to show me that you love me? Beat me like you do to your slaves?" I choked out, tears staining my cheeks, along with a bruise that I was positive was forming from the slap that Calvin had given me._

_There are times where you're so angry with someone, you say something you never will mean. It was one of those times, and I said something so hurtful and heartbreaking that it made Calvin absolutely lose it that night._

_"You have got to be a goddamn lunatic if you think I would let _you_ be the father of my child!" I shouted at him, terrified. "To even _think_ that I would carry something that's_ yours _in me! You sick bastard__!"_

_I knew that was his weakness._

_A new emotion of anger flashed over Calvin's face. He was trembling, he was so mad._

_I had made a dire mistake in saying that, and I wanted to take it back before it escaped my lips. But I couldn't take it back. It was too late. He grabbed me by my chin, cupping it tightly in his hand, his nose almost against mine, he snarled, "You naive, ungrateful woman."_

_My tears hit his hand, and he tightened his grip on my chin. I gasped, looking down at his hand, putting my hands over his wrist, the veins in it protruding with stress and anxiety, with the grip of his hand on my chin. He glared at me with his infuriated blue eyes, and I flinched when he hit me again, sending me onto the bed behind me. The hit was harder than the one he had given me before, with a power behind it of pure rage. I didn't restrain my sob this time. I took pride in my ability to hold in sobbing, but this was my breaking point. I began sobbing, choking out gasps, screaming._

_"Goddamn it, I am your husband and you will show me _respect_!" Calvin roared in his Southern accent, pointing his finger at me with rage, "And you will obey me. You will carry my child, you will stop helping them niggers, and you _will_ do anythin' I ask, so help me God!"_

_He unbuckled his pants quickly, and I knew what he was going to do. I backed up a little, but he dragged me to him. He pinned me down to our bed, and pushed up the bottom of the night summer dress I wore so that my underwear was exposed. He pulled them off aggressively, infuriated. I was sobbing all the while he did it, his hands aggressively maneuvering me. He pinned my hands above my head, and went into me before I had time to even think. _

_It hurt._

_I burst into new tears, sobbing more than I ever thought I could. I sobbed, trembling, until there were no more tears left to cry._

_When Calvin finished, he got up and off of me. He buckled his pants back up, running a hand through his longer, brown hair. He glanced over at me as I laid on the bed, laying there in sadness. I felt rigid. My husband raped me, and nothing was more traumatizing than that._

"To my beautiful Gwen," Calvin said, raising his glass of bourbon, "I love you, darlin'."

I looked up at Calvin, and smiled at him. And I knew exactly what to say back, without even a hesitant thought. I guessed that was a positive thing. In the long run, in spite of some of the arguments we had, he tried to be a loving husband. He was, usually. I raised my glass and clinked with him. He was a a cold-hearted bastard.

He was my husband.

"I love you, Calvin."


	4. FOUR

_You guys don't know how amazing reading your reviews are.  
Thank you so, so much. I seriously can't thank you enough.  
I'm so happy that you like Calvin and Gwen and that you like their relationship.  
Here's the fourth chapter. _Please review! It inspires me!_  
Oh, and just letting you know—this fic and Calvin and Gwen's relationship is based on the song  
_**"Trouble is a Friend" by Lenka**._ Check it out!_

** FOUR**

I sipped my champagne.

Calvin and I really enjoyed dinner.

We laughed, talked. His friends and associates came by our table occasionally to chat. People in the Cleopatra Club loved him. The people who seemed to worship Calvin were so affected and artificial. They were so caught up in their lives, in the materialistic aspects of living the high life in the deep South. Arrogant people who couldn't care less about other human beings. Expensive dresses and suits, cigarette holders blowing smoke into the air. Jewelry that had a price tag bigger than my family's apartment in Boston. When they stopped at our table, Calvin seemed oblivious that they were kissing his ass. The women looked at me with what I interpreted as jealousy or disapproval, eyeing me up and down, reminding me of Lara's disapproving once-overs.

The women that were married to Calvin's friends knew I wasn't apart of their elite group of wealthy, high society Southern wives, and I was fine with that. I was the odd one out, the awkward Northerner who didn't live up to the social status of her husband. I didn't care if the arrogant wives of the other men didn't like me. I really just needed Calvin to be with. That's all.

I put on an act when these friends of Calvin's and their wives would come to the table to chat. I'd act like I was the high society wife I was supposed to be, but I always failed miserably at it. Calvin knew the real me, and he knew I as nothing like the other wives. He knew the act _wasn't_ me, because he'd shoot me looks from across the dinner table, with his eyebrow raised, that said _where the hell did that come from?_

If on any occasion I was required to go to one of the uproarious parties at one of Calvin's friend's plantations—which was pretty often—I clung to Calvin.

I refused to leave his side, even if the wives of all the other men would mingle and gossip with each other. I didn't fit in with them, and Calvin knew it. He was totally aware that he was the only one out of his friends that didn't marry a Southern belle, and that the other wives didn't approve of me, and that they excluded me. He didn't care. He said he was more than happy with me. That was one thing I loved, that he honestly couldn't care less that I didn't fit in with the other women.

He didn't care. He would hold me close at the parties, an arm around my hip, and include me in the conversations that he was having with his friends.

Calvin said he'd do anything for me.

He tried to make me feel accepted, even though Calvin knew I never was, and never would be. He tried so hard to make me feel like less of an outcast at these big plantation parties, or even at dinners. He'd act so engaging in the topic him, his friend and the wife would be talking about, and he'd try to make me feel like I belonged. He'd put an arm around me, or hold my hand from across the table. He'd ask my opinions, or ease me into the conversations. He knew I didn't like his friends, but he didn't want me to be excluded.

When one of Calvin's friends and his wife left, he looked at me questioningly, tapping the end of his cigarette's ash onto his plate, "Gwen, I know you don't like 'em. Ya don't have to pretend you do."

I bit my lip, then exhaled. "I know. I just don't _fit_ with these women, Calvin. I'm—don't know. Not like them, I guess."

He gave me an amused smile in reply. He stood up from the table, straightening up his red smoking jacket. He stood next to me, looking down at me, his cigarette hanging out of his mouth. He inhaled deeply, removed the cigarette from his mouth, and blew out a stream of smoke into the air. He then held the cigarette holder between his index and middle finger.

He leaned down, and said in my ear, "I think you pretendin' is pretty goddamn cute."

He kissed my cheek as I sat there, and I felt myself blush a little, his scent of bourbon, cologne and cigarette smoke encompassing me. "I do like it a bit better when you're _you_ though, darlin'." Calvin added, taking my hand and helping me out of my chair, his cigarette stuck between his teeth, "You really shouldn't be changin' that."

I smiled a bit and looked at him, recognizing that it was a really sweet thing to say, especially coming from Calvin. He really was trying to make me have a nice night, and I had to give him credit for that. He arched his arm out for me again, giving me a playful smirk, and I gladly snaked my arm around his. He took me by the arm and we walked through the restaurant area out into the foyer again.

Calvin led me up the stairs. I looked upwards, seeing the endless stairs spiral with every different floor. I lifted up the dress I wore as I climbed the staircase, an impending sense of worry and dread creeping up in my mind. This night was too good to be true. There was a catch, I knew it. Once we got to the second floor, we arrived at the Caesar room, where Butch and Leo were. Calvin opened the door for me, and I stepped inside.

The room's walls and floor was hardwood.

The room smelt of cigars and cheap perfume. There were two loveseats by the grand fireplace to the left of the room, while there was a big pool table in the middle and a bar to the right. The room was dimly lit, making the atmosphere comfortable and nightly.

He put a hand on my back and led me farther into the room. Butch nodded to the two of us, tipping his hat in a respectful gesture. He was playing pool by the table. Butch never said much. He was more Calvin's valet than his friend, and I don't think I'd heard him speak more than a few sentences in me and Calvin's four years of marriage. Leo approached Calvin with another man, someone I never had seen before. He looked foreign, with a grey beard, balding, and a handsome grey smoking jacket.

"Calvin, this here's Mr. Stonesipher. He's lookin' to have some fun." Leo smirked, winking at Calvin.

Calvin caught the hint that was between the two of them, and grinned with his cigarette crudely between his teeth. A hand still placed on my lower back, Calvin reached out with his other hand and firmly grasped Stonesipher's hand in a masculine manner.

"Stonesipher, good to meet 'cha. I'm Calvin Candie," He said, squeezing my hip, "This is my wife, Gwen."

Stonesipher smiled at Calvin, and released his hand from the handshake. I sighed, and smiled little, nodding to the man, who in turn took my hand and kissed it, "Madame." His accent was French and quite thick.

"So, my friend," Calvin said slyly, getting that nefarious look in his blue eyes, "What kind of bet are you willin' to make?"

I stopped, glancing at him. I knew he meant Mandingos.

The Frenchman cleared his throat, saying, "Two thousand dollars. On mine. Big nigger, name's Luigi."

"Okay." Calvin said, puffing on his cigarette, "I'll go for it. I got a good nigger. Big Fred. Real tall, muscular. Leo, would ya bring the two of 'em out?" He asked, then released his cigarette and commented to Stonesipher, "Drinks and a good Mandingo fight should be a good bit a fun for tonight. Take a seat, boy."

Leo disappeared into the other room. He came back with two tall, muscular African American men. They looked fearful and anxious, but powerful. They were shirtless, and their eyes were so sad. I felt my stomach churn, knowing what these poor men were about to face for Calvin's enjoyment. I knew he was going to do this, and I really wished he hadn't ruined the positivity between us by doing this. He rubbed the small of my back, and asked me, "Ya want another drink before the fight?"

I squirmed under his hand, attempting to shrug him off me, "I can't believe you."

Calvin looked utterly surprised, raising his voice, "What? What'd I do _this_ time?"

"Mandingo fights." I snapped at him, "Calvin, you said no fights tonight."

Leo had the two brawny, bulky slaves stand by the fireplace in front of the two seats, awaiting Calvin to take his spot on one of the two loveseats to watch. They looked like they were going to vomit in fear. I stood with Calvin by the two French doors, becoming increasingly irritated and annoyed with him every minute that went by. I glared at my husband, knowing I should have been more wise than to think that Calvin wouldn't do this.

"It's one measly 'lil fight." Calvin soothed, holding my hand in his, "Ain't no big deal, just a really quick bet. It'll be fun. Sit with me and have a drink, darlin'."

I glared up at him, ripping my hand from his grasp, and spat, "You don't care that two men are going to fight to the death for your entertainment? You don't care that they are going to kill each other for you? Don't you understand? Oh wait, why _would_ you understand? You always do this. You put two men together and watch them gruesomely murder each other because they're just _niggers_ to you, right? Jesus_ Christ_, Calvin."

He glared at me, taking me by the upper arm, yanking me out of the room and outside by the staircase to continue the private argument.

"Ya know damn well this is what I do," Calvin snarled, pointing a finger in my face, "You know that I breed Mandingos at Candieland. You can't expect me to come to the fucking Cleopatra Club and not bet on _goddamn_ Mandingos!"

"It's sadistic!" I snapped.

Calvin was getting annoyed. He grabbed my chin in his hand, but I looked away from him in spite of it. This really irritated him, and he harshly yanked me by the chin to look at him. He was mad, and his blue eyes harbored nothing by sternness and seriousness. He was ticked off, and I glared up at him. His grasp tightened, and he brought me even closer to him. He was taller, and it intimidated me. My breathing was uneven, anxious.

"You know betta than to yell at me like that." He snarled, pointing his cigarette holder at me.

He was trembling again, so infuriated that he was trying desperately to control himself. He growled at me, "Why do ya have to be so _goddamn_ difficult?"

"Are you going to hit me again?" I asked bluntly, antagonizing him, "Are you going to hit me to show me how much you really love me?"

Calvin took a deep breath, and his grip eased on my chin, releasing me. He looked down and muttered, "Don't say that."

I swore I saw a little bit of guilt in his eyes. A _little_ bit.

"You know I'm right." I replied.

"Gwen—" Calvin tried.

"You never get that hitting me won't make any difference. I still will think that Mandingo fighting is wrong, I will still think that your friends are narcissistic, inhumane assholes who had their head up _your_ ass, and I will always think that it's disturbing as hell that your plantation is the most feared place in Mississippi."

"_Gwen_!" Calvin snapped, pointing his finger in my face, his Southern accent heavy on the words, "_Goddamn_ it! Shut up!"

My blood ran cold, hearing his voice rise like that. It terrified me.

"You're never going to get it." I muttered in reply.

"_Gwen_!" Calvin shouted tiredly after me. I blocked him out as I quickly climbed down the stairs. I was halfway down the stairs, when he leaned over the banister, shouting, "Gwen, get you're pretty 'lil ass back here!"

I knew he was going to be infuriated that I didn't show him respect, that I wasn't obeying his orders. He was going to be infuriated that I had talked back to him in front of his friends and associates. I knew he would yell at me later for it.

We were staying the night at the Cleopatra Club, and would return to the plantation in the morning, so I knew I would hear about this tonight in bed.

I huffed as I climbed down the staircase, frustrated beyond belief.

This night was nothing different than every waking moment of me and Calvin's marriage.

It began as romantic, gentle, and charismatic. Calvin was charming, and he had blunt chivalry. He made me feel like I was the most beautiful thing in the world, and I never felt happier. He acted like he was the ideal husband.

Then, there were the other times. He would do the most inhumane things possible, with little to no remorse. When he had hit me, raped me, or screamed at me. He always said to me that he never _really_ would hurt me, and he swore he didn't want to. He was so arrogant, so cruel, and so narcissistic. He was the monster I was married to. He never cared about the slaves, no matter what I ever said. He acted like they were animals, like they were dogs to throw in a dog fight. He would cheer on one to slaughter the other. It was gruesome and disturbing.

He knew I hated it, yet he led me right to it.

I walked across the beautiful main foyer, then out the front door, to the black gates. I stopped there, leaning against the opened black iron gate in frustration, rubbing a hand over my face in frustration.

I never liked it when Calvin and I clashed like that.

Calvin was nine years older than me, and he seemed to think he was right simply because he was thirty-three and I was only twenty-four, he had the advantage of being wiser. Yet, he never apologized, and never admitted when he wasn't right.

Being married to Calvin was—every now and then—like being in chains. He dominated me, and I was so terrified of him that he easily had control over me. I guess some of the blame should be on me, because I knew he was trouble when I was first introduced to Calvin—the first time he took a drag ffrom his cigarette and grinned at me. So, shame on me. I felt like I was drowning at times, when I realized how easily Calvin had control over me, how easily I was a sucker for his charm. It really did petrify me to no end.

I stood by the gate, and felt my red-rimmed eyes glassing over with tears. I quickly blinked them away, making them disappear.

I often wondered if marrying Calvin was a mistake. Not that I had a choice, but Calvin always acted like it was a choice. I really loved him, yet I also loathed him. He was the biggest narcissist I knew, who only cared about his plantation, bourbon, cigarettes, and himself. He cared about me, he really did, but the arguments always became so emotional and aggressive. We were civil for only a little while, a happy couple. We were fine for a while, but then we started to lose control.

A carriage stopped in front of the black iron gates.

A man, in his mid-fifties I guessed, climbed out. He had a handsome, aged face with kind eyes. He had blondish hair with a grey beard, and his smile was charming. In tow with him was a African American man, maybe in his late thirties to early forties. They were both dressed quite expensively, and the fact that the African American man was dressed as well as the other surprised me a bit. He looked tense, but the white man looked relaxed and quaint. The two of them approached me.

The white man bowed a bit to me, "Hello, Miss. Is this the Cleopatra Club?"

I nodded, and gave them a little bit of a smile, "Yes, it is."

"I'm Dr. King Schultz," The man explained, and I realized he was German. His accent was pretty thick, and his manner was quite calm and very kind. He turned to the African American man, "And this is my associate, Django Freeman. We're here to find a Mr. Calvin J. Candie. Do you know of him?"

Django was his equal.

I extended my hand and shook Schultz's hand, then extended my hand to Django. He looked down at it, like he couldn't believe a white woman was offering to shake his hand. He looked up at me with an arched eyebrow, but accepted my hand and shook it. The two of them swapped glances when they realized I didn't have a Southern accent.

"Lovely to meet you both," I replied, "I'm Gwen Candie. Calvin's my husband."

Django and Schultz looked surprised. Schultz smiled at me, "Would you be as so kind to take us to meet him?"

I nodded.

Life hasn't been very kind to me lately, but I suppose it's a push from moving on. In time the sun's gonna shine on me nicely.

Because suddenly, something tells me good things are coming.

**Review?**


	5. FIVE

_Again, thank you so much for the lovely feedback!  
Your reviews mean so, so much to me! They inspire me to write more!  
I hope you like this chapter! Please review!_

**FIVE**

I looked up the stairs, picking up the ends of my green dress, climbing up them with Schultz and Django close behind me. I really did not want to see Calvin right now, but the two guests seemed so polite and kind that I couldn't say no. I held onto the banister with my other hand, and we reached the second floor. My heart felt like it fell into my stomach when I heard shouting, cheering and loud thumps behind the door within the Caesar room.

I stopped at the two wooden doors, holding the gold handles but not opening them. I turned to Django and Schultz, "I apologize in advance for my husband's behavior."

I instantly opened the doors of the Caesar room. We stepped inside, cheering and grunting flooding my ears. I looked to the left, seeing Calvin shouting at the Mandingos, who were both soaked in crimson red blood. Calvin's was on top on Stonesipher's, beating the hell out of the other Mandingo. Stonesipher, Calvin and Leo were cheering, shouting, and thrilled as the two slaves fought, blood splattered on both their faces. Calvin sat up and kicked his slave in the back, to tell him to keep going, "Get back on top now, turn around!"

I looked at my feet, disturbed.

I heard the Mandingos fighting, grunting as they tried with everything in their power to murder one another. I heard the thumping of their bodies and limbs hitting the hardwood floor, and I cringed with the noise. I felt tears brimming my eyes, so insanely disturbed, and I blinked them away.

"Why do ya want to get into the Mandingo business?" Calvin asked, seated on one of the loveseats, his back to us. I looked from the floor to Schultz.

"The awful truth? I'm bored." Schultz sighed, and shrugged, "It just seems like a good bit of fun."

Calvin swiftly turned around, nodding at Schultz, the charming smirk on his face. I felt my knees tremble. Whenever he gave that look I felt weak. So cocky, but charming. He blew out cigarette smoke through his nose, his cigarette holder between his middle and index finger. Calvin gestured Schultz over, "Well why don't cha come on over? We got a fight goin' that's a good bit of fun."

Schultz sauntered over. While he did so, Calvin said, "I'm assumin' you gentlemen met my lovely wife Gwen?"

He always did that. Calvin and I would have an argument, then in minutes the two of us would act like nothing happened between us. Only occasionally we would keep the tension between us for a while. He was acting like we hadn't just blown up at each other over the banister outside, and he was good at it. He winked at me, and that smirk on his face was making me blush. I was still infuriated with him, but that goddamn smirk was difficult to not blush at.

"We did," Schultz nodded, bowing at bit at me. I smiled back a little.

I looked at Django, who still looked tense and a bit annoyed. I put a hand on his shoulder, and murmured quietly so Calvin couldn't hear, "Django, do you want a drink? Come over to the bar with me. You don't need to see this."

Django looked at me with what I interpreted as surprise, and nodded.

Tension filled the room as I led him to the bar. Butch held the pool stick in his grasp and glared at Django, watching him harshly as he walked across the room. I ignored Butch's glare, and continued to lead Django. I knew Calvin was curiously looking at Django as we walked to the bar to the right of the room. I stood at the bar, and looked at the African American man, Roscoe, who was Calvin's bartender.

"Roscoe, if you don't mind, serve Django anything he pleases." I requested gently, "Please."

"Yes, Madame Candie." Roscoe replied quietly, and looked to Django. I nodded to him in thanks. I was about to speak to Django when I was called over by Calvin, over the noise of the fight. In my mind I told myself I wouldn't take two steps towards the fight, and I knew I would break out into sobs if I had to watch it. But I knew that Calvin was already infuriated with me, and I didn't know how much hitting I could take tonight when we were alone. I miserably sauntered over to Calvin, residing close to him as he stood up to greet Schultz.

"Dr. Schultz," Calvin greeted, standing up and taking Schultz's hand and giving it a firm handshake, looking over his shoulder to the Mandingos. "Keep fightin', niggers."

I bit my lip in order to not snap at him, so I glared up at him. He glanced at me, then glanced away, to look at Schultz, who was saying, "Monsieur Candie, it really is an honor."

"It's an honor to meet ya," Calvin replied, "Please, have a seat. The pleasure's all mine." He turned to me, smirking a little bit, puffing on his cigarette, then blowing out smoke in rings. "Come on and sit with me, sweetheart." He murmured, looking down at me, gently snaking his hand on my hip, slyly pulling me a bit closer to him.

I looked up at him, muttering softly so only he could hear, "Calvin, stop."

No wasn't a choice.

He grabbed me by the hip, bringing me down with him. He sat down on the loveseat beside Schultz and Coco. I sat there, forcibly clinging to Calvin's side, his arm encaging me against his body. He had his arm wrapped around my ribcage, and my head pressed to his collarbone. He was attempting to put on the act again, and he was having none of my attitude. In Calvin's eyes, we were in front of guests, and he was _all_ about politeness and Southern hospitality.

He was silently telling me _be nice._

He put the hand of his that wasn't holding me captive on my leg, giving it a quick squeeze. I felt saddened as I was quite literally held against my will, pressed to my husband like a prisoner. He was forcing me to watch the Mandingo fight as a punishment for the fight we had had earlier. I sat there, watching in absolute terror, as Calvin's Mandingo slammed Stonesipher's to the hardwood floor with a bone chilling thump. I bit my lip, trembling in anxiety against Calvin's body.

He felt me trembling, so he held me tighter.

He kept shouting as the fight kept going, "Come on now, boy! Goddamn it, he's not doin' what I told him! Come on, boy! It's a fight to the death!"

Stonesipher was on the other loveseat, yelling at his Mandingo in French, cheering him on. Calvin was getting charged, watching the fight with increasing excitement. I was sickened by him. I felt the tears welling up as I watched the two terrified Mandingos fight. Blood stained the floor, the hardwood slick with deep red blood, streaked from the fighting. The smell of copper filled the air near the fireplace, the stench of blood making me grimace.

"Rob him blind!" Calvin screamed.

The Mandingos were slamming each other across the floor, leaving blood wherever they fell. Big Fred hit Luigi in the kidneys, sending him to the hardwood floor. Calvin cheered loudly, and I felt nothing but miserable as I sat there. Calvin squeezed my leg again in excitement, shouting for Big Fred to keep going. Big Fred got Luigi on the ground, and I heard the snapping of limbs. Fred reached in Luigi's eye, and yanked out the eyeball from the socket.

Silent tears streaked down my face and hitting my lips. I buried my face in the crook of Calvin's neck, the hot tears staining his white shirt. It was the only place to hide my eyes from the disturbing, horrific sight of what I had witnessed. Calvin noticed this, but said nothing.

I looked up from his neck, and he saw my tear-drenched face. I said quietly, "Stop the fight, Calvin." He looked at my face, was about to say something to me, until Leo shouted, "Yeah! Big Fred, you got it!"

Calvin ripped his attention from me, and to the two Mandingos. Fred was breathing hard, his massive chest rising and falling heavily with each sharp intake of breath. Calvin released me and stood up, taking a hammer from the table beside us. He threw it on the floor with a thud, beside the two Mandingos. Fred looked up at Calvin, with pure fear and misery in his eyes. Tears continued to streak down my cheeks.

Schultz looked uncomfortable, disturbed. I'd never seen anyone who liked Mandingo fights that disturbed by them.

Curious.

He glanced at me, surprised that Calvin Candie's wife was crying at something that Calvin Candie was so infamous for. I restrained my sobs, but looked away as Calvin snapped, blowing out cigarette smoke, "Finish him."

Fred looked terrified, picking up the hammer.

"Go on, boy! _Finish him_!" Calvin barked.

I put my head in my hands as Fred went down with the hammer. I heard a massive thump, and I looked back up to see Luigi's body go from squirming and screaming to silent and limp. I gasped a little, wiped my cheeks and eyes with the back of my palm, smearing the wet tears on my hand. I sniffled, and stood up. I glared at Calvin with red-rimmed eyes, and pushed past him. He watched me with annoyance.

I walked to the bar on the right side of the room, my heart thumping loudly in my chest.

"Leo, you take this boy of mine and find him a soft bed, and then you're gonna send him up a nice pony to lick his pole." Calvin was saying, walking and talking to Leo as he, Calvin and Fred walked to the bar. Calvin looked at Fred, "Now you better be ready to travel to Candieland tomorrow mornin', ya hear?"

Fred looked at me as they got closer to the bar. I gave him a look of sadness, and mouthed "I'm so sorry" while Calvin was busy speaking to Leo.

Fred, who was drenched in Luigi's crimson red blood, acknowledged my glance, and then looked to Calvin, "Yes, Monsieur Candie."

"Oh, before you go. Roscoe, give Fred here a tall beer." Calvin requested, puffing on his cigarette and smiling greedily. Roscoe obeyed, handing Fred a massive bottle of alcohol, who was popping it open and drinking hurriedly. He grinned at Fred and said, "You enjoy that, boy. You've earned it."

"Yes, sir." Fred replied, and Leo took him out of the room.

I sat down by the bar, sitting at a cherrywood table and crossing my legs. I was furious with Calvin, and nothing that he could say would make me feel any better. He looked at Django, who was standing at the bar. He was rigid and tense, not looking at Calvin when he looked at him.

He puffed on his cigarette, blowing out smoke in curls, "What's your name, boy?"

"His name is Django Freeman," Schultz replied to Calvin's inquisition, coming over to the bar. "Where'd ya dig him up?" Calvin scoffed, giving Django a once-over.

"Oh, a fortuitous turn of events brought Django and I together," Schultz explained.

Calvin looked suspicious, or rather, quizzical. He circled around Django like a shark, talking to him from behind, "Now boy, I hear you've been sayin' that my Mandingos ain't no good. Now I'm curious, what makes you such a Mandingo expert?"

"I'm curious what makes you so curious." Django said calmly, turning around at looked at Calvin with attitude. Calvin looked amused, yet shocked, that an African American had said that to him. I smirked, finally someone else but me was trying to put Calvin in line. God knows that I'd been trying for four years.

"What'd you say, boy?" Butch snapped, holding the pool stick in his grasp firmly, glaring at Django.

"Calm down, Butch." Calvin replied, not taking his blue eyes off Django, "No offense given. None taken."

Calvin walked over to the table I sat at and sat down in the chair beside me, putting his hand on my leg and taking a deep drag from his cigarette, blowing smoke high in the air. I looked at him, and he squeezed my thigh.

He looked at Roscoe and said, "Roscoe, give Gwen some champagne. And I will have a Polynesian Pearl, but do not spare the rum."

Calvin looked to Schultz, tapping the end of his cigarette in the ash tray on the bar table, "Now Doc, I'm a seasoned slaver. You're not. I just wanna make sure that this cowboy over here ain't taken advantage of ya."

Schultz arched an eyebrow, "Monsieur Candie, I do not mean to be direct. But I did not seek you our for your advice. I sought you out to purchase a fighting nigger for a top-dollar price. Now, I was under the impression that we were discussing business."

I raised my eyebrows, and Calvin looked a bit insulted and surprised. Roscoe handed Calvin and I our drinks. I smiled and thanked him quietly, while Calvin gave a defensive look to Schultz.

Calvin re-gripped my thigh and said, "We weren't discussin' business yet. We were talkin' 'bout my curiosity."

He looked at Schultz suspiciously, then demanded, "Roscoe, Coco. Go outside and play."

Roscoe nodded respectfully to the two of us, and Coco smiled sweetly, giving a curtsy and leaving with Roscoe.

"Gwen. You're stayin' here." Calvin ordered, kissing my cheek and standing up. I sipped my champagne and muttered miserably, "It's not like I have a choice."

He smirked at me and then looked to Schultz and Django. "Now, accordin' to Leo, if I do business with you," Calvin reasoned, pointing his drink at the two of them, "then I'm doin' business with both ya'll. He does the eyeballin', you do the billfold, is that it?"

"It doesn't sound that flattering...but, more or less, yeah." Schultz replied, giving Calvin a charming smile. Calvin turned to Django, "So, bright boy. Leo tells me that you took a look at my African flesh and you were none to impressed, huh?"

"Nope." Django muttered, smoking his cigarette cooly.

Calvin looked unimpressed. "Then we got nothin' to talk about. You wanna buy a beat-ass nigger from me, those are the beat-ass niggers I wanna sell, so..."

"He don't wanna buy the niggers you wanna sell. He wants to buy the niggers you_ don't_ wanna sell." Django corrected. Calvin looked at Django mockingly, "I'm not gonna sell the nigger I don't wanna sell." He walked away, clearly unimpressed by the two of them.

"Well, you won't sell your best. You won't sell your second best. Your third best? Maybe. But if I made you an offer so ridiculous you'd be forced to consider." Schultz persuaded, standing next to Django. Calvin turned to look at the two guests of ours, and said amusedly, "And what do you consider ridiculous?"

"For a truly talented specimen?" Schultz reasoned, "The right nigger? Twelve thousand dollars."

Calvin grinned, "Gentlemen, you had my curiosity. Now you have my attention."

Later into the night, I was down in the dinning room of the Cleopatra Club, sipping water out of a wine glass by the bar. The dining room was basically empty. I was still steaming from the night's previous events of the Mandingo fight. The grandfather clock in the dining room struck eleven fifty. I sighed, fingering the tip of the wine glass. I felt miserable, and I kept seeing flashes of the fight. The blood soaked floors, the hammer slamming into Luigi's head. And it was all because of Calvin. I didn't understand how a person could gain entertainment from watching torture and killings. I didn't understand why Calvin cheered like he did when the men killed each other. I felt sick to my stomach thinking about it.

I heard footsteps behind me, and I didn't bother to turn around.

"Gwen. C'mon to bed."

I turned to look at Calvin. He looked at me indifferently, but expectantly held his arm out for me to take. I bit my lip, hopping off the bar stool and walking past him. I knew he rolled his eyes while I pushed past him. I climbed the stairs up to the third floor, down to our hotel room. I opened the door.

It was a master suite, with hardwood flooring and red furnishings with expensive furniture. It was too luxurious, too wealthy. I was annoyed enough, and this just added to it. I flung off my heels, kicking them across the hardwood flooring, sending them to the ground with a thump.

Calvin entered the room, taking off his red smoking jacket, and stubbing out his cigarette in the dish on the nightstand. He stripped off his tie.

The massive chandelier that hung in the middle of the room was flickering, the flames of each candle dancing in the air. Calvin stood behind me, taking off my necklace effortlessly and putting it on the nightstand beside the bed. He pushed the dress down, slinking the dark green dress off me. I didn't say anything.

He untied my corset under the dress, and my clothes feel to the floor around my ankles.

I took pins out of my hair, strands of blond hair falling around my face. I smelt his scent of cologne, cigarettes and bourbon encompassing me. He put his arms around my hips again, curling them securely over the bare flesh. I felt the hair on the back of my neck rise, my blood running cold under my skin. He began sliding the thin tip of the underwear lining down, but I stopped him instantly.

"Calvin, not now." I snapped, squirming under his grasp.

He grabbed me by the arm and yanked me around to face him. I gasped when he did, surprised. He was clearly sick of me rejecting his advances. His blue eyes glared at me wickedly, and I knew he was charged with anger. He gripped my arm tighter, and he yanked me closer to him so our noses almost touched.

"I am goddamn _sick_ of you talkin' back to me!" He roared, "I will do whatever I the hell I please, and I will not continue to hear any lip from _you_, Gwen. You are my wife and you will do anythin' I say or ask. And you will not give anymore sympathy to those _fucking_ niggers! I saw you bein' all kind to that Django. You're a goddamn nigger-lover. If I see it again I swear to God I'll—"

"Hit me? Go ahead!" I yelled in reply, "Oh, don't even _worry_! What's another bruise to you? You see them every time we fuck, don't you? And you never blink at them! You know they're there, don't you, Calvin? What does it matter? It's no different than just another Mandingo bashing in another's head with a goddamn hammer! Just a typical night for you!"

"You shut that fuckin' mouth!" He barked at me, aggressively releasing me from his grip, "You nigger-loving _bitch_!"

"Anything to get away from you, you narcissistic bastard!" I shouted at him, quickly sauntering over into the sitting room that connected to our bedroom. Calvin caught me by my torso when I was at the threshold of the sitting room, yanking me back into the bedroom. I yelped loudly, as I was dragged back into the bedroom.

"Don't you fuckin' walk away from me!" He screamed, taking me by the back of the neck, sending me to the bed. I laid there, tears beginning to blur my vision. They brimmed my red-rimmed eyes. I was trembling, terrified as I looked up at him. I choked out a sob, and Calvin looked down at me. He was in a fit of absolute rage, that he smacked the lamp by the nightstand, sending it flying across the room.

He kicked the chair by the bed in anger, and shouted, "Goddamnit, son-of-a-_bitch_!"

Tears streaked down my cheeks, staining my skin and hitting my lips. I choked out a sob, and Calvin was on top of me, and snapped angrily, "I love you, Gwen."

I sobbed, choking out in a stammer, "I love you, too."

It was no different than any other fight. It would begin in hitting, insulting, or yelling. It would end in something romantic. It was twisted, disturbing.

Nevertheless, it _was_ love.

Calvin tugged my underwear off. Under the covers of the bed, he got on top of me. I looked up at him, tears still streaking down my cheeks. He pressed his mouth to mine, deepening it and positioning himself over me. I put my hands on his bare back, digging my nails into his back. Before I knew what was happening, Calvin went into me and I yelped in surprise. I gasped, breathing unevenly as he did so. He pushed my bare back against the bed, and I reached a hand to the sheets, scrunching it in my fist in the thrill. After Calvin finished, he laid beside me.

My head was buried in his chest while he slept, his arm around me. I laid awake.

I really loved him.

But I felt like a prisoner in my own marriage to Calvin Candie, as if the weight of the world was on my shoulders. Like I was in chains. I wanted freedom.

And to find it may take everything I have.

**Review?**


	6. SIX

_I can't thank you readers enough. Your lovely reviews are absolutely terrific. Thank you so, so much!_  
_I am so, so happy you guys enjoy the scenes of Calvin/Gwen. This chapter is a bit shorter._  
_Next chapter will be the longest, and I hope to put a few important scenes between them there._  
_Thank you again! I hope you like this chapter. _**Please review, they inspire me!**

**SIX**

The next morning, we left the Cleopatra Club and were on our way back to Candieland.

It was a beautiful summer day, and the Mississippi heat was thick. I was on a good note with Calvin, even after the night before. He seemed like he was on a good note, too, because his charismatic side and his charm was blunt in the morning. Leo, Calvin and I sat in the carriage, while Calvin's entourage—Butch, Billy, and a few others—followed. Calvin's Mandingos were chained up and walked along too, and it annoyed me as I saw the chains that restricted them. I didn't want to fight with Calvin again this morning, especially in front of everyone, so i kept my mouth shut.

I sat beside Calvin, his arm snaked around me, his hand draped on my shoulder. He was puffing on his cigarette like always, talking to Leo about the latest Mandingo fight and how proud he was that Fred had won. I rolled my eyes and blocked out their conversation. I watched the Mississippi scenery go by, as we rode past plantations and cotton fields. Within the first hour of the ride, Schultz and Django caught up to our carriage, riding in on their horses. Calvin ordered the carriage to stop, and we halted.

I looked at the two of them.

Something was off about them. I'd first noticed when Schultz had looked away at the Mandingo fights. If he had been such an advocate for the sadistic fights, why did he squirm? And it seemed unlikely that the two of them had just so happened to stumble upon Calvin and asked to come to Candieland. I had never heard of King Schultz or Django Freedman, and I'd never heard Calvin speak of them, so he sure as hell didn't really know them, either. I was suspicious, but I kept my allegations to myself for the time being.

"Good morning, gentlemen." Schultz greeted, "And lady."

"Ah! Good Dr. Schultz," Calvin replied, turning to look at the two travelers, "Beautiful mornin', ain't it?"

Schultz looked up to the sky and smiled, "Couldn't have picked a better one."

"Why don't ya take a ride with us up here?" Calvin suggested, "You can tie your horse back there."

Schultz nodded and dismounted his horse. He led it to the back of the carriage and tied it up. Django climbed off his horse as well, feeding it a handful of grass. "Django!" Calvin called him, and he looked up. Calvin tipped his hat to him, and Django mirrored him, doing the same.

I remembered the night before at drinks after we had met Django and Schultz. Calvin and I had sat at the table with the two of them and Leo, and Calvin had go on a speech about how Django was an "exceptional nigger" and that he was 1 in 10,000. Calvin had explained that there were only certain slaves that were bright and capable. He pointed at Django and told him he was one of those "exceptional niggers" and that it was remarkable. I'd looked at Schultz and Django from across the table, shaking my head a little at what Calvin was ranting about, and excused myself from the table. I shrugged off Calvin's hand that rested on my thigh under the table, quickly getting up to leave. I knew Calvin glared at me as I walked away and out of the dining room of the Cleopatra Club, but continued his speech nevertheless.

"Bright day, huh, Bright Boy?" Calvin instigated, smirking at Django.

"The sun is up." Django replied simply, looking at Calvin through his black rounded sunglasses.

Calvin nodded, resting his left hand on my thigh, "Shining on all of us."

Schultz joined the three of us in the carriage, sitting across from me. He smiled a bit, and I smiled a little back, "Nice to see you again, Dr. Schultz."

"Pleasure is all mine, Madame Candie." He tipped his hat to me. I smiled at his manners, and replied, "Gwen."

Before anyone could say anything, I heard one of Calvin's men—I wasn't sure which—snapped, "The game is keep up, not catch up, _nigger_!"

Laughing ensued among the men, cackling like wolves at the use of the word I hated the most. That's when I couldn't help myself. I didn't think I could hear that word again without losing it. I snapped. That was it. I lost it. I turned around and stood up in the carriage, surprising Calvin, Schultz and Leo.

"So help me God!" I barked, "If I hear that terrible word one more time, there is going to be serious hell to pay! Now shut up, and just let Django mount the goddamn horse in peace. Jesus Christ."

The men looked at me in awe, Butch with a taken aback expression. Calvin looked surprised, his eyes wide and his eyebrows raised. Leo's jaw dropped, awaiting Calvin to reprimand me. Schultz stifled a laugh, looking at me with a look that I interpreted as impressed. I was Calvin's wife, and what Calvin said was law. I rarely gave orders, and whenever I did, Calvin's men acted so shocked. Billy annoyed me the most, and he treated the slaves the worst. He was sadistic and grimy, and I couldn't stand him.

"Gwen, you gotta be shittin' me!" Billy protested.

Django went over to the man who had taunted him, yanking the horse he rode on down, sending the man to the grass, the horse collapsing on top of him. The man screamed, and the horse neighed loudly. Schultz's eyes grew wide and started to stand up, but sat back down. I smiled at Django. Calvin stood up quickly, standing next to me.

Django drew his gun and snapped to Calvin's men, "Touch your guns and you die."

"Now everybody calm down!" Calvin shouted, "I saw the whole thing. No harm done."

"Are you kiddin' me? First Gwen says to stop callin' him a nigger, then that nigger—" Billy retorted.

Calvin was getting annoyed with him, "I said _no harm done_! And ya listen to Gwen just as well as ya'll listen to me. Now get your hand off your pistol! Butch, that means you, too! Now everybody better stop antagonizin' my guest."

It was weird to have me and Calvin, standing side my side. The two heads of the household who had opposite views on everything, actually agree on something. Calvin put a hand on the middle of my back, looking at everyone sternly in the back of the carriage.

Billy, Butch and the rest of the men removed their hands from their weapons, hesitantly. Billy glared at me.

"Hoot! Get back up on your horse!" Calvin ordered. Hoot was on the ground, rolling around in pain, "He broke my collarbone!" I stifled a laugh, putting my hand over my mouth to not show it. Calvin shot me a sideways glare to silently tell me to shut up.

"Would somebody please help Hoot back up on his goddamn horse?" Calvin asked irritatedly, rolling his eyes. He sat back down, pulling my hips down with him in order to make me sit. I glared over my shoulder at Billy.

"You're one lucky nigger." He said, shooting daggers at Django.

"_Billy_!" I snapped, "What the hell did I just say?"

"You heard the lady. Do what she says." Django replied cooly, "Watch your back, white boy."

"Oh, i'll be walkin' in the moonlight with you." Billy snarled.

"You wanna hold my hand?" Django mocked him.

Billy scoffed and rode on. Django mounted his horse.

Calvin looked at me as I turned back to focus my attention away from the tension behind us. He smirked a little, putting his arm around me again, pressing me to him. He pressed his lips to my head.

I felt annoyed, and I looked out to the sun, which hit the tops of the trees, shining orange and yellow streaks through them.

The Mississippi heat was beginning to get to me, and I wasn't in the mood for anymore trouble. I think I had enough trouble in my life, or rather, in the past few days. Calvin knew I was annoyed, but spoke anyway. We had a moment to ourselves, given Leo and Schultz were in deep conversation in front of us.

"A bit rambunctious this mornin, darlin'?" Calvin asked.

"You don't know the half of it." I snorted, glaring out to the sun in the trees.

Calvin took a puff from his cigarette and looked like he was thinking of how to say what he was about to say, like he didn't know how to put it into a sentence. He blew out the smoke, and sighed, looking at me, "Gwen, relax. Y'know that I'd never hurt ya, if you're still thinkin' about last night."

Never hurt me my ass.

"I'm sick of hearing that word coming out of not only your mouth, but Billy's, and all of them. We've already talked about this, Calvin. It's annoying and I hate it. I just want it to stop. I doesn't have to do with last night." I replied, tearing my eyes away from the scenery and looking at my husband.

I knew Calvin wouldn't ever really understand how terrible the word was. He was raised with slaves in the house, with people saying nigger. He was used to getting whatever he wanted. He was used to a lot of things I wasn't, and I knew this was why we clashed so much. And I knew Calvin knew that I was sympathetic to the slaves. Last night wasn't the first time he'd screamed at me and called me a "nigger-lover". I knew that deep down—even though he really did love me—that he really hated that he was married to someone who was so sympathetic to slaves. It irritated him to the bone.

"Fine." Calvin said, "Fine. I'll stop."

I looked up at him, knowing he was lying through his teeth. I searched his eyes, but pressed my lips to mine.

I knew he was full of it, that he was just saying it to please me. Calvin was a sadistic, charming asshole. He could make you believe anything with just a blow of smoke from his cigarette and that charming smirk.

Later into the carriage ride back home to the plantation, Schultz and Calvin discussed business. Schultz seemed quite interested in the other slaves at Candieland, not just the Mandingos. I found that suspicious, too. He was really engaged in the topic, almost interrogating Calvin about the women slaves back at Candieland. Given that Schultz was a German immigrant, Calvin brought up Broomhilda von Shaft, one of the housemaids back at the plantation.

Broomhilda was a young woman, in her thirties. She was pretty, and quite quiet. She had a scar on her cheek, the mark of a runaway. She had gashes from whips across her back from her previous owner, and I pitied her greatly. She spoke a good amount of German, so Schultz thought he could communicate with her easily. I never had much interaction with her, but she had always been kind to me. I treated her the same, despite Calvin's wishes. I'd occasionally, like I had to Cora, slipped her food if I had the chance. It wasn't too often, given that Calvin watched me like a snake.

As we approached Candieland, we stopped when we heard dogs barking.

My heart dropped into my stomach when I saw what they were barking at. D'Artagnan, one of Calvin's Mandingos, a middle-aged slave who had won three out of five fights for Calvin, trembled in a tree, the dogs barked viciously at the bottom, snarling up at him. He was terrified, looking down at the dogs, knowing death was imminent if he was to lose his footing and fall. I felt my heart thumping rapidly in my chest, beating hard against my ribcage.

"Calvin, call off the dogs." I snapped at him quietly.

"D'Artagnan, boy." Calvin said mockingly, looking up at him and ignoring my plea, "What were you doin', thinkin' you could run away?"

"I can't fight anymore, Monsieur Candie," He cried in reply, looking pleadingly at Calvin.

"Yes you can!" Calvin protested, "If you can get on all the way up there in that goddamn tree, then your ass can fight."

"Call off the dogs!" I snapped at their holders, standing up again. Seeing as Calvin didn't do it. I glared at them, "They're scaring him. Christ."

The holders did as they were told, dragging the dogs away to the side, where the slaves that were being transported from the Cleopatra Club to Candieland stood and watched in anxiety. I could feel Calvin glaring at me as I ordered his men around, but I didn't really care.

I looked up at D'Artagnan, and said gently, "D'Artagnan, will you come down, please?"

"Yes, Madame Candie." He replied, attempting to climb down the tree.

Calvin looked furious that one of his slaves tried to run away while we were gone. He ran a hand through his hair, and began walking out of the carriage and down to D'Artagnan, who was terrified, looking at Calvin with pure fear.

"Calvin, don't!" I said, knowing that there was nothing he had on his mind besides cruel intentions.

He didn't reply. He kept walking, until he turned to one of the handlers, "How long has he been gone, and how far did he get off the property?"

The handler, a grimy, gross-looking man with bad genes, replied, "'Bout twenty miles of the property. Been gone for 'bout a day."

Calvin glared down at D'Artagnan, who began begging, "Please, Monsieur Candie. I can't do this no more. I can't take it—"

"Now, now! None of that beggin'." Calvin snapped, kneeling down to be on level with him. "Don't be takin' advantage of my soft heart. You gotta understand here. You're in big trouble, son."

D'Artagnan choked out a sob, and I knew what Calvin was going to do.

My heart sunk.

**Review?**


	7. SEVEN

_Hey readers! As always, thank you for the __absolutely lovely reviews.  
They inspire me to keep writing. Let me know what you think of this chapter!  
Enjoy. Please review—they really inspire me!_

**SEVEN**

"I paid five hundred dollars for you. If I pay five hundred dollars, I expect to get five fights out of a nigger before you roll over and play dead. Don't cha understand? I'm runnin' a business here. I mean, you've fought three fights." Calvin said degradingly.

"But I won every won of 'em." D'Artagnan pleaded, choking out a sob.

I felt tears glass over my eyes.

"You did, but that last won was on the brink of winin' and losin'." Calvin added, and got up, brushing off his hands from kneeling down in the grass. He looked at all of us, "So the fact remains. I pay five hundred dollars, I want five goddamn fights. So where's my five hundred dollars, huh?"

He turned to look at D'Artagnan.

I felt my heart beating rapidly in my chest again. My blood ran cold knowing what Calvin was intending to do to D'Artagnan, and I knew that even though he probably would never listen, I had to try to talk Calvin out of it. I got up from the carriage, walking off the steps of it, walking by Schultz and Leo, who again looked surprised that I was attempting to tame and disobey Calvin.

"You gon' reimburse me?" Calvin hissed at him, "Do you even know what reimburse _means_?"

The dog holders and Calvin's men all laughed at D'Artagnan. Their snickering really got to me. It was arrogant, stupid hicks, laughing at another's impending death. I felt like I was trembling in anger as I heard their ugly, disturbing laughs. It angered me, to the point where I walked to where Calvin stood and grabbed his arm.

"Stop it, Calvin. Give him a break." I urged him, looking up into his unforgiving blue eyes, "No wonder he ran away with these fucking dogs chasing after him. Jesus Christ, he's just afraid."

I didn't wait for Calvin's response, I just saw his expression of shock that I had gone this far this time. He narrowed his eyes at me as I knelt down to D'Artagnan, and reached out for his hand, "Come here, D'Artagnan. It's okay. It's not a big problem."

I knew that the beating that was in store for me once we got back home to Candieland would be the most painful thing to ever come to me, but I blocked it out of my mind for the time being. D'Artagnan looked to Calvin to see if he approved, but Calvin just looked infuriated beyond belief that I once again was embarrassing him by disobeying him in front of everyone. He was boiling mad, from the expression on his face, his cigarette clenched between his teeth in anger. In spite of this, D'Artagnan took my hand, and I stood up with him, attempting to help his gain the little dignity he had left, back.

"Thank—thank ya, Madame Candie. Thank ya." D'Artagnan choked out, "I won't do it again, I—I swear."

"It's okay, don't cry. No harm done," I soothed.

I prayed Calvin would let this go. But of course, it was Calvin Candie. So naturally, he didn't.

"No harm done my ass, Gwen. Who the fuck is gonna pay me my five hundred dollars?" Calvin snapped, grabbing my arm, "You tell me that. Who's gonna pay me back for this fucking useless nigger? He can't even push a goddamn broom, let alone fight no more! There's no point in keepin' him!"

"_Calvin_." I urged, "It's okay. Let it go."

"It ain't okay! I'm gonna deal with this goddamn runaway nigger any way I see fit. And you ain't gonna influence me none." Calvin barked at me, then looked over his shoulder and yelled, "Billy!"

I looked at D'Artagnan, and he was beginning to panic again, knowing that this time, the master's wife could not help this time. That's how I guessed all the slaves at Candieland saw me, the only hope if Calvin decided to kill or beat them. I tried to talk Calvin out of things like that constantly, but he almost always scoffed at my opinion and carried through with the punishment anyway. This was the worst thing I'd done to Calvin in a long time, and I guessed that it was worse than the time that I'd helped in the kitchen. I could only imagine what Calvin was planning to do to me when we got back to Candieland, but I really wasn't too worried about myself at the moment.

Billy came up behind me and grabbed my arm roughly, "C'mon, Gwen."

I narrowed my eyes at Calvin. So now he was physically removing me from the situation, getting one of his men to drag me away from the situation.

Asshole.

Billy dragged me back to the carriage and sat me down, holding me there. I squirmed and protested, but I was not listened to. Calvin turned to the slaves that were being transported from the Cleopatra Club to Candieland, and said, "Let this be a lesson to ya'll."

My heart felt like it stopped.

Calvin turned to the holders, who held the vicious German Shepherds and mutts on stringy, breakable leashes, "Let the bitches send D'Artagnan to nigger Heaven."

It happened so quickly. I shouted, standing up to stop Calvin, but Billy yanked me back down. Tears streaked down my cheeks as the dogs were unleashed and attacked the runaway slave, gruesomely ripping him apart and attacking him. Calvin casually walked back to the carriage, dismissing Billy to let me go, and he made his way back to his horse. Calvin resumed his seat next to me, inhaling his cigarette like he hadn't just murdered a human being, and put an arm around me as the carriage began going again. I didn't sob, but silent tears ran down my face quickly. I didn't think I could look at Calvin. I effortlessly shrugged off his arm, and wiped my eyes. D'Artagnan's screams of pure terror faded as the dogs killed him and the carriage moved farther away from him.

The worst part was that he was given a false sense of hope. And I was beginning to think that Calvin slaughtered him because I disobeyed. I sat in the carriage, as far away from Calvin as I could be in the small coach. The worst part was that I was furious, yet I was stuck there with him until we got to Candieland.

Calvin made me feel like his slave. Like I was trapped, like i was looking for freedom. And the Lord knew I wasn't finding it.

I felt the coldness and tension between us, the master of the house and his wife. The two opposites. The Southerner and the Northerner, two completely different people who had such different views on life. I was terrified of him, yet I loved him. I seriously questioned myself as to why I was in love with him, or why he was in love with me. I was absolutely terrified of him, yet I was in love him.

Did we _like_ the fighting? Or were the times when we were good—like at dinner, certain conversations, or in bed—so great that we couldn't stand being with anyone else but each other?

We arrived at the black iron gates of the Candieland plantation about twenty minutes later.

I remembered the first time I'd seen the plantation. It was massive, white with pillars at the front. The cotton fields, grass and trees made the yard beautiful. I was overwhelmed, thinking that it was the most beautiful, graceful and lovely place I had ever seen. The beauty that was my home deceived me, when I figured out the violence that happened behind those gates. The parties where Calvin's friends talked about their slaves, their own plantations, their bitchy wives and their precious Mandingo fights. The place were I was supposed to feel at home, but I was labeled as an outsider by everyone—Lara, Lara's friends, Calvin's friends, their wives, Stephen—except for Calvin.

Lara sat on the upper deck having tea, Cora and another slave standing up there with her. She smiled, seeing as Calvin was coming home. I rolled my eyes, staring at my home that always had an impending sense of hostility to it.

Calvin deeply took a drag from his cigarette holder, blowing out a streak of smoke.

We stopped at the front steps of the house. Django and Schultz were in front of us. Calvin's Mandingos were rounded up to stand in a neat line off to the side. Calvin and I still weren't speaking to each other. We didn't have to, because Stephen came hobbling out of the house with his cane. He narrowed his eyes and glared at Django, and began ranting to Calvin like always, kissing my husband's ass like no tomorrow.

"Hello! Stephen, my boy!" Calvin greeted, turning to look at him.

Stephen hobbled down the three steps in front of the house. "Yeah, yeah. Hello my ass. Who's dis nigger up on that nag?"

"Ah, what's the matter, Stephen? You eat nails for breakfast? What's the matter, why you so angry? Ya miss me?" Calvin bantered, leaning over to look at Stephen as he approached the carriage.

"Ah, yes sir I missed you. Like a hog misses slough. Like—like a baby misses its' momma's titty." Stephen teased in response, and Calvin laughed loudly as Stephen leaned himself on the carriage to look up at Calvin, "Yeah sir, I missed you like I miss the rock in my shoe!"

Calvin put his hand on my thigh, putting on an act again. Either that, or he was silently trying to do the "apologize without apologizing" thing.

"Now, I ask you," Stephen asked, "Who's dis nigger up on that nag?"

Before Calvin could answer him, Django chirped in, "Hey, Snowball."

Appalled at being addressed this way, Stephen glared around to look at him. Django was emotionless, and tense, when he added, "You wanna know my name or the name of my horse, you ask me." Calvin and Leo exchanged looks, raising their eyebrows that Django was that headstrong.

I stifled a smile at Django talking back to Stephen.

"Now who the hell you callin' 'Snowball', Horse Boy?" Stephen snapped, approaching Django, "I'll snatch your black ass off that goddamn—"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Stephen, Stephen!" Calvin intervened, "Let's keep it funny. Django here's a freed man."

"This nigger here?" Stephen asked surprisingly, jerking his thumb to Django.

Calvin nodded, puffing on his cigarette. "That nigger there. Now let me at least introduce the two of ya. Django, this here's Stephen. He's another cheeky black bugger like yourself. Stephen, this here's Django. You two outta hate each other."

"Calvin, now who here is this nigger that you feel the need to entertain?" Stephen snipped, glaring at him like Calvin had finally lost it. Calvin pointed to Django and Schultz.

"Django, and his friend in grey here, Dr. Schultz, are customers. And they are our guests, Stephen, so you—you old decrepit bastard otta show 'em every hospitality, you understand that?" Calvin said.

"Yes sir, him I understand"—he looked to Schultz—"but I don't know why I gotta take lip off this goddamn nigger—" Stephen ranted, but Calvin cut him off.

"No, no. You don't gotta know why. Do ya understand?" He asked, clearly losing his patience. "Yes sir, I understand." Stephen replied, knowing not to test Calvin's temper.

God knows _I_ didn't know when to stop testing Calvin's temper.

"Good. They're spendin' the night. Now go up to the two guest bedrooms and get 'em ready." Calvin ordered, pointing with his cigarette holder to the upstairs of the mansion.

Stephen's jaw dropped, "He's stayin' in the big house?"

"Stephen. He's a slaver. It's different." Calvin explained. "In the big house?" Stephen asked again, shocked.

"Why, you got a problem with that?" Calvin snapped. Stephen put his hands up in defense, "Eh, i got no problem with it. Not my problem if you wanna burn the beds, the sheets, the pillowcases and everythin' else after this black-ass motherfucka's gone!"

"That is my problem, they are mine to burn. You're problem is makin' a good impression. So I want you to start solvin' on that problem right now and go upstairs and make them goddamn rooms ready! Now go on!" Calvin snapped again, and I knew that tone of voice was serious.

Once Calvin reached that level of his voice, tampering with his temper any further meant you're in trouble.

"Yes, Monsieur Candie." Stephen said, making his way back to the steps of the house, and muttering, "Can't believe you brought a nigger to stay in the big house. You're daddy's rollin' around in his goddamn grave, right now."

Calvin shook his head, mumbling to me, "He's gettin' worse and worse."

We got out of the carriage. Calvin had offered a hand for me to take, but I ignored him and got out on my own. He rolled his eyes, not believing that I was still upset and disturbed over D'Artagnan's death. He expected me to just forget the sight of the poor, sobbing slave begging for his life and then being ripped apart so easily. it wasn't easy in any sense of the work. A desperate, crying man who hadn't done anything wrong but run from Calvin was slaughtered by dogs. What did that say about Calvin? He was a cold, heartless asshole with no regard for humanity. That's the way I interpreted it.

Lara came walking out to the front steps, her big pink dress swinging in step as she did so, that fake Southern belle smile on her face, her brown hair twirled.

Calvin kissed her on the cheek and introduced her to Schultz and Django, who looked at her less than impressed. I just glared at her and didn't greet her. She did the same, the typical once over that screamed "_You're not good for my brother, you Northern whore" _in one look. I didn't think there was a person I hated more in my own home than Lara, with Stephen coming in a close second. So snobby, so hostile, so inhumane.

Calvin gripped my arm gently, ready to go inside with me, until Schultz inquired about Broomhilda. According to Stephen, she tried to run away while Calvin and I were at the Cleopatra Club, and that she'd been put in the hot box for the entire day. Calvin ordered her out, and for her to be cleaned up and sent to Schultz's room afterwards. Calvin instructed that Lara was to bring Broomhilda up there to him.

Curious. Why was Schultz and Django _so_ engrossed with Broomhilda?

I was still steaming from the D'Artagnan incident, so when Calvin grabbed my arm again, I ripped away from him and stormed inside and up the stairs. I could hear him laugh lightheartedly at my attitude, trying to hide his anger in front of Django and Schultz.

"You gentlemen will have to excuse my wife. Her Northern ways are a bit different from mine." Calvin said charmingly, "She's a pistol. She's got a bit of a tendency to be rambunctious. So, gentlemen, I do apologize. I am weary from our travels beyond words, so it's time for me to rest my tired eyes."

I stormed into our bedroom, shutting the door and sitting on the bed. I wanted to scream, to punch Calvin in that goddamn handsome face of his. He ruined my emotions. He made me so furious, but then I loved him. I felt like I wanted to leave him sometimes, but then realized that I didn't want to. That I wouldn't be happy with anyone else.

I heard him coming up the staircase, then storming down the hall. He entered the room, yanking the door open and slamming it shut.

"What the fuck do I gotta do with you to get you to stop misbehavin'?" Calvin snapped, throwing his hands up in the air, like he was clueless, "Why don't cha tell me, Gwen? Enlighten me, goddamnit!"

I scoffed, narrowing my eyes at him and standing up from our bed, "You're serious?"

"Pretty goddamn serious." He replied, his blue eyes furious.

"How about you stop feeding slaves to your dogs?" I asked him, on the brink of losing my own temper, "How about not having a sobbing man, who's pleading for his life, begging you _not_ to kill him, ripped apart by a bunch of vicious attack dogs? What about that?"

"Oh, don't you even begin with that." Calvin growled, "You were gonna reimburse me on my money, Gwen? Huh? With all that money you got back in Boston?"

"Money?_ Money_!" I yelled at him, "You are—if not one of—_the_ most wealthy man in Mississippi. What the hell does five hundred dollars mean to_ you_?"

"It's money! It's business!" He yelled, pointing at me, "You wouldn't know a fuckin' thing about that, would you, Gwen? You'd be poor as shit if it wasn't for me. You would be rottin' like a goddamn rat in a sewer back in Boston if you weren't married to me!"

"Better off a rat, then!" I snapped at him, and I knew I didn't mean it when it came off my lips.

It wouldn't let him win, but I was a sucker for his charm.

He was infuriated by that comment.

He glared at me and raised his hand to hit me, but stopped himself.

He roared, pointing in my face, "I can't be bothered to even hit you! You aren't worth the strength it would _take_ to hit you! You are an ungrateful _bitch_ sometimes, Gwen, and every time I try to even show that love you, you reject it! So don't act like this is all my goddamn fault! You disobey and disrespect me, and that's not goin' to go, sweetheart."

"You slaughtered D'Artagnan! He was _begging for his life_! He sobbed to you, _begged_ you to let him live. And you slaughtered him!" I yelled at Calvin.

"I'LL DO WITH MY NIGGERS WHATEVER I FUCKIN' _WANT_ TO DO WITH MY NIGGERS, GODDAMNIT!" Calvin screamed.

It was one of those screams that went right through me. It made my blood run cold, and I felt a chill run up my spine. It terrified me.

"You better begin valuing life more than you do now!" I screamed back, but I sighed. I quieted my voice and said miserably, "'Cause I'm pregnant."

"_What_?" He asked in shock at my sudden confession, his eyebrows raised.

"I'm pregnant. Are you happy now?" I asked. "That's what you wanted, right? To get me pregnant? The question is, Calvin, are you ready to have your baby be raised here and be exposed to people being ripped apart by dogs, or having people whipped or killed in front of them? Or if we go out to the Cleopatra Club or to one of you're friends goddamn awful plantation parties, will you be okay with a slave like Cora or Stephen watching them while the two of us are gone?"

I could only imagine how the rest of the plantation would react. Having a little baby at Candieland was really difficult for me to imagine. Calvin's slaves would have a lot to talk about. Lara was going to be livid, furious that Calvin had gotten me pregnant. She'd get so infuriated, I could already picture it.

"Yeah, of course that's what I wanted!" Calvin said, wrapping his arms around my hips, kissing my cheek, "And I'm—I'm so happy about it, darlin'. Yet you seem pretty goddamn bitter."

"I'm not—" I exhaled, attempting to calm myself down, since he seemed off the topic of our fight, "I'm—I'm not bitter. I'm asking you if you are ready for that."

Calvin looked down at me, "Stop it, Gwen. You gotta stop bein' so goddamn worried 'bout stuff like that. You're havin' a baby. You're gon' make a wonderful mother. I do believe that's a bit more important, darlin'. Or am I mistaken?"

I looked up at him, "No. No. Okay, okay. You're right."

"You know I really love you, don't you?" Calvin asked, his expression serious.

"I know." I replied, "I love you, too." He didn't reply. He just pressed his lips to mine, with a kiss that felt like he _really_ meant it.

Little did I know things weren't going to be that easy for the two of us.

Trouble is a friend of mine.

**Review? They mean a lot!**


	8. EIGHT

_Sorry it's a bit late, guys! The reviews last chapter were so lovely, as always.  
Thank you so, so much. Your inspiring and encouraging reviews are just...amazing.  
I can't thank you enough for taking so much interest in this fic. You're all truly brilliant.  
Again, I apologize this is late! I'm working on my second screenplay!_

_Sorry for the length—next chapter will be much, much longer!  
__Please review, they inspire me!_

**EIGHT**

After Calvin and I had made up, we'd fooled around, then talked about how we were going to tell Lara. I didn't want to, but Calvin insisted that he wanted his sister to know that she was going to be an aunt in nine months. I refused to tell her, so Calvin did. Calvin was so thrilled that he was going to be a father, happy that he had gotten what he wanted.

My problem was that Calvin Candie was going to be the father of my child. He was my husband and I loved him, but what would he teach our child? To hate African American people, to treat them like slaves? To be as abusive as Calvin was to me? I didn't want our child to grow up in Candieland, surrounded by violence, racism and hatred. I just wanted our kid to grow up in a normal household, not where their father is ordering dogs to rip people up or ordering death by hammer.

If I had it my way, I would have had the baby back up North in Boston, and raise it there. Calvin despised the North, and refused to leave the deep South. Nothing was better than Mississippi in his mind, especially Boston, Massachusetts. Calvin scoffed at the thought when I had brought it up months ago when we had discussed having a baby, much to my dismay. It was either Calvin's way or nothing. So, not only was I trapped, but so was our unborn baby. It worried me that not only did I not have freedom, but the baby already didn't. I was trapped like a dog by the man I loved.

I couldn't leave Calvin.

I loved him. No matter how abusive he got, no matter how furious he became, he was my husband, the father of my child, my caregiver. He gave me a home to give in, wealth to live on, and more. He was a sadistic, heartless man, but he did what he did for me. He provided me with everything. I was dependent on him.

Calvin had asked Cora to get Lara, who came upstairs with that fake, wrinkly grin on her face. She kissed Calvin on the cheek, so loving towards her little brother. She just gave me the usual glare. She was furious when Calvin told her, and the two of us cringed when she exploded in anger.

"You're _what?_" Lara screeched at me, and Calvin grasped her shoulders, and said, "Now, darlin', it wasn't expected, but it's a goddamn great surprise, ain't it?"

I blatantly glared at her, "I'm pregnant. Sorry to disappoint, Lara."

"Calvin, how could you want to have your kids with _her_?" Lara snarled at me, then looked pleadingly to her brother, "You don't have to be with her, darling."

He rolled his eyes at our perpetual fighting, given that it was no surprise that the two of us fought like that. It struck a nerve, however, when she indirectly suggested that Calvin leave me, or better yet, kick me out of the house. He glared at her, shocked that his sister would even ask that of him about his pregnant wife. Calvin snapped, "Gwen and I are married, darlin'. It was bound to happen at one point or another. They'll be none of that, Lara. I won't hear it. Ain't you happy you're gonna be an aunt?"

"And see a little version of _her_ paddling around the plantation?" Lara snapped at him, but looking at me, "No thank you!"

She stormed out of the room after that, and Calvin just said to let her be, she would get over it. I didn't argue. I didn't care what she thought. She wasn't part of our marriage. She was just my husband's obnoxious, snooty sister that got into everyone's business. Calvin exclaimed how excited he was about the new baby, pride overtaking him.

"Gwen, don't you listen to her," Calvin reassured, running a hand through my hair, "There is no other woman I would rather be with than you, darlin'."

I looked up to him, giving him a weak smile.

He pressed his lips to mine, and left me to get ready, sending the maids up to get me ready and cleaned up for tonight.

I wore a dark red, low-cut dress with my hair down. I hated having my hair twirled around like a Southern belle, so I kept it down and simple, with the help of Cora and the girls. Once they finished, I thanked them and dismissed them. I stopped when I heard talking in the other room next to me and Calvin's bedroom. It was German, and Schultz was speaking to Broomhilda in the language. I didn't speak a word of German, but it sounded like it was a deep conversation.

I bit my lip.

I really didn't know anything about Django and Schultz. Neither did Calvin. He was trusting them, blindly. They were travelers that said they were interested in the Mandingo business. Yet, there had been so many signs that had turned against were extremely inexperienced from the looks of it. There had been so many signs that had turned against that. Schultz seemed to absolutely hate Mandingo fighting and slavery in general. He was German, and as far as she knew, not many Europeans practiced slavery. He had squirmed and looked highly disturbed when Calvin had been rooting on Fred to kill the other Mandingo back at the Cleopatra Club. I didn't believe that they were at our plantation of Mandingo fighting.

Thank God.

I pushed a strand of pale blond hair out of my eyes, tucking it behind my ear. I heard talking, then a pause. A door opened, then a thump. A loud thump. My heart almost stopped. Were they hurting Broomhilda? What was that noise? Why the hell did they request Broomhilda to go up the room for Schultz?

Then it hit me.

Django and Broomhilda shared the same runaway slave brand in the same spot, on the left, upper cheek.

And as simply as that, I knew that they somehow knew each other. Marriage? Brother and sister? I leaned more towards marriage, but I wasn't quite sure. I quickly ran out of me and Calvin's bedroom, out to the hardwood flooring of the massive upstairs hallway. Downstairs, dinner was being made for everyone to sit down at. I came to Schultz's room, and yanked open the door without knocking, against my usual manners. It was impulsive.

Schultz sat on the bed, staring at me, surprised. Broomhilda yelped, and Django was holding her in an embrace. His eyes grew wide. The three of them looked terrified that Calvin's wife had caught them, that their act was spent. "Madame Candie, I—" Broomhilda gasped.

"Tell me what's happening," I replied, and looked to Schultz and Django, "Tell me who you two_ really_ are. I know you're not here for Mandingo fighters. You've got Calvin fooled, but not me. The jig's up. Who are you, and what do you want? Are you here to hurt anyone?"

The two of them looked at each other, unsure of whether or not to tell the truth..

"I'm not telling Calvin." I added, "I may be married to him, but that doesn't mean I tell him everything. I'm not like him."

Schultz looked at Django and Broomhilda, then to me.

He cleared his throat, and straightened the end of his beard before he spoke, "I'm Dr. King Schultz, as you know already. But I'm not a Mandingo man. I'm a bounty hunter. Django here is really my associate, but not a slaver. He has come from Texas to take back what's his, Broomhilda."

I looked at Broomhilda, who nodded.

"He's your husband?" I asked her, nodding at Django.

She nodded again, "Yes, ma'am. Please, please don't tell Monsieur Candie. _Please_."

Django glared at me, beginning to take out his gun, "You tell, you die."

I looked at him with sincerity. "You don't need to tell me, Django. I meant what I said. Just because Calvin is my husband doesn't mean we think the same. It doesn't mean that I agree with him or that I like what he does. He's a psycho. My husband is an abusive bastard with no soul and I'm pretty sure he doesn't have a goddamn heart, either. What really—what can you do? You don't choose who you fall in love with. It just happens. You love who you love. I love Calvin. It's no different than you and Broomhilda. You came all the way from Texas to retrieve the woman that you love. Why would I sabatoge and sever that tie that you have?"

Django looked at me, suspicious. "You mean that?"

"Why wouldn't I?" I asked, "I'm not like the monster I married. You clearly see that Calvin and I don't see things the same. I'm willing to help you, the both of you. Calvin will not buy it that you randomly want Broomhilda. You need to play up the Mandingo fighter more, as much as you and I may hate those goddamn fights. You can trick him. But you have to be careful of Stephen. _Very_ careful. He will pick up on the littlest of detail, you have to believe me when I say that. He's like Calvin's guard dog. Always on edge, always watching. Always ready to start trouble."

"You're the wife of Calvin Candie." Django snapped, "The wife of a man who we just witnessed order attack dogs rip a man apart. Why should we trust you? You could be trickin' us right where we stand."

"I know," I said, and sighed "But I'm not. I tried to stop it. Just like I'm trying to stop him from catching you before he or Stephen does."

Broomhilda gave me a weak smile, "Thank you, Madame Candie."

"Why you helpin' us?" Django asked, narrowing his eyes at me, "What the fuck's in it for you?"

I looked at Django, my eyes glassy, "You're not the only one searching for freedom from Calvin Candie."

Dinner was served in the dining room. After reaching an agreement with Django, Schultz and Broomhilda to help them escape Candieland unharmed and out of Calvin and Stephen's clutches. It would not be easy, and if I was caught in helping them in their plot, the punishment would be severe, painful, and terrifying. But would Calvin lay a hand on me while I was pregnant? I guessed that he wouldn't, I didn't think that Calvin would go that far. Then again, he was Calvin Candie, so nothing would particularly surprise me.

I realized I was betraying and defying my husband with two strangers and a house slave, but why is that bad? Django and Broomhilda were husband and wife, who truly, deeply loved each other. Seeing them together, thrilled to be in each other's presence every second, saddened me.

What was it like, to be so in love that you didn't do anything but love the other without violence and vicious fighting?

What was marriage like without the fighting and crying?

At times I wondered how the two of us, two opposites—a Southern, wealthy jerk and a Northern poor girl—got to be married. So it was arranged by my mother. But how did Calvin and I begin to love each other, like really love each other? Not just forcibly love each other?

Calvin loved me, and I loved him, but we weren't like Broomhilda and Django. They were kind to each other, gentle, calm. They didn't scream at each other, threaten each other or hit each other any time either of them got mad. I wondered what a marriage like that would be like. Calvin led me from the stairs and into the dinning room, and I sat beside him at the head of the table. He puffed on his cigarette, blowing out rings of smoke with a smug look on his handsome face.

He had a hand on my thigh, keeping his wife that was in delicate condition safely under his watchful blue eyes. If you asked me, he was being more possessive than Calvin usually was.

I was nervous under his watch, subconsciously feeling paranoid that Calvin knew of the plans that I had made with Broomhilda, Schultz and Django, even though I knew Calvin was clueless. I was so nervoius under his watchful eye. I felt like he knew, even though I knew he didn't. He was so malicious, so sneaky. There was no worse feeling than lying to the man that has sole power over you, to the man that is like a snake, to the man that you married. To the man you love.

At dinner and during friendly conversation, Calvin was proud as ever due to the new pregnancy news. He stood up, and raised his glass of bourbon, and announced the pregnancy.

"To my beautiful Gwen," He repeated, remembering the toast he had given me earlier. "And to the little soon-to-be addition to the Candie family. I love you more than life itself, darlin'."

It's like I wanted to get out, but Calvin was holding me down.

And I couldn't live without him.

**Review? They mean a lot!**


	9. NINE

_Hey guys! I need to say my deepest, deepest apologies for stalling and not publishing this.  
It's taken me a while to write/edit this chapter due to writer's block, so expect the regular updates now!  
Again, I'm so sorry for the wait! I hope you still like it!  
Let me know with a review, please!_

**NINE**

"Look, Monsieur Candie." Schultz said, "Your mandingos were good. But Sampson, Goldie and Eskimo Joe were your best."

I sat at the dinner table. My heart throbbed in anxiety, out of the corner of my eye watching Calvin. I was terrified that he would be on to us, on to me, but he didn't seem to notice anything suspicious. Calvin listened to Schultz, but noticed I was looking at him and gave me a small smile, reassuringly putting his hand on my thigh under the table and giving it a loving squeeze. I gave him a weak, feeble smile in return.

The candles's flames on the table twisted and danced, illuminating the cherry wood dining room. It was such a overly-expensive looking room, with furnishings of red, black and brown. A chandelier hung in the middle of the room above the dinner table. It was like the rest of the plantation, expensive looking and overdone. Calvin loved it that way, nevertheless, just liked he liked his clothes and everything else but me.

"I mean, clearly Sampson's your best. Now I know you won't sell him, nor will you ever sell him." Schultz said, shrugging, "He's a champion."

"All three," Calvin corrected, holding up three fingers, "Are champions."

Django chimed in, "Sampson's a champion. The other two are just pretty good."

I looked at Calvin, who had that happy yet irritated as hell look on his face, like someone was testing his patience but he was trying to contain his anger behind a smile. Stephen looked at Calvin in shock, surprised beyond belief that he would let an African American talk to him like that. Stephen stood next to Calvin and I, "Are you gonna let him talk to ya like that?"

"Stephen, Stephen. Relax." Calvin snipped. One of the kitchen maids went to fill my glass with champagne, but Calvin quickly covered the top of the glass with his hand before she could fill it, "No, no. No champagne for Gwen. Get her water."

"Yes, Monsieur Candie." The maid bowed a bit to the two of us, and quickly sauntered into the kitchen. I glared at Calvin, questioningly looking at him, "_Why_?"

With Calvin talking about Mandingos in my ear, and the stress and anxiety that was happening internally right now, I needed alcohol. "I heard alcohol's not good for the baby." Calvin explained, putting a hand on my abdomen, "And there's not a goddamn chance that I'm gonna risk that shit, Gwen."

I glared at him, but I let it go. Now that the baby was in me, he was going to treat me this way. Gentle, and he would probably ease up on the hitting, at least for now. I bit my lip to stop any back talk that I wanted to say, and was patient. The way I saw it, at least Calvin was looking out for not only me but his child.

He rarely did sporadic acts of kindness, so I didn't take it for granted. I sighed, and smiled a little at him. He kissed my cheek, his scent of cologne and bourbon encompassing me yet again. I put a hand of his that was resting on my thigh under the table. He turned to me and flashed me another small smile, and I leaned my head on his shoulder in affection.

As Calvin discussed the Mandingos and showmanship with Schultz, my mind drifted to Django and Broomhilda. The way they were together, how loving and beautiful their relationship was. Now that I was pregnant, I wanted Calvin and I to have that kind of a relationship.

What kind of an example would we be setting for our child if we were arguing and yelling at each other all the time? How would the child feel about their mother hating their father? I didn't want the endless fighting to go on anymore. I just wanted to begin really loving Calvin Candie. I knew it was going to be very difficult in situations like Mandingos and other awful things he did. In those times, I hated him more than anyone I've ever met.

When my attention was snapped out of my thoughts, Calvin was still talking to Schultz about showmanship.

"Dr. Schultz, I can assure you, there is no one here who appreciates showmanship more than Mr. Calvin J. Candie." He laughed charmingly, and Stephen laughed right with him. They both stopped, however, when Broomhilda leaned over Schultz and placed a plate in front of him. He smiled at her and she smiled back, and he thanked her in German.

"Well, well, well," Calvin said smugly, "Looks like you two are gettin' along."

Schultz laughed heartedly, "Well, Monsieur Candie, you can't imagine what it's like to not hear your native tongue in four years."

Calvin gave a sinister, smug grin to Schultz, stubbing out his cigarette on the edge of his red China plate, "I mean hell, I can't imagine two weeks in Boston."

Stephen burst out laughing and I glared at Calvin. He said that to purposely mock me. He'd gone to Boston once for a few days with me to visit my family a year after we were married. I had gotten homesick and Calvin had rolled his eyes and said to make me happy, he'd take me to Boston. When we arrived, he stuck out like sore thumb. He wore expensive, handsome clothes and had the thickest accent that anyone in the North End had ever heard. After two days Calvin erupted at me and said he couldn't take Massachusetts anymore, that we had to go back home to the plantation in Mississippi.

I remembered that I argued with him that I missed Boston, that it was my home. He was quick and cruel in correcting me that Mississippi and Candieland was my home now, and that we were leaving the "God forsaken hellhole" that was Boston, Massachusetts. I sadly said goodbye to my mother and siblings, and was off back to the deep South with my possessive husband. I hadn't gone back to Boston since. He thought that everyone in Boston was trash, and I snapped at him and told him that that was my family he was talking about. He scoffed it off and was just happy we were on our way back to Mississippi.

Everyone at the table erupted in laughter. Lara, Leo, Calvin and Stephen. I shrugged Calvin's hand off my leg, and instantly he knew he had annoyed me.

"Aw, c'mon now, Gwen. It's all just a good bit of fun." Calvin said, and I backed out of my seat, "Excuse me."

I got up and went into the kitchen. I could hear Calvin laughing off my little fit, explaining everything to Schultz and Django, "Gwen's from Boston. She's pretty goddamn proud of it. She's got the temper to prove it. Quite the Northerner, ain't she?"

The girls in the kitchen looked at me, surprised that I was back there during a dinner party. I bit my lip to contain my annoyance. Every little thing Calvin did lately just annoyed me so much. I tried to think that I would try to tolerate him more, but it was difficult. He was possessive and didn't understand anything from my standpoint. I married a villain.

I married trouble in human form.

Cora approached me as I leaned against the counter, and said gently, "Can I get ya anything, Madame Candie?"

I looked up at her, and gave her a weak, genuine smile. "I'm fine, Cora. You've been working hard all night. Why don't you and the girls take a break? If Stephen or Calvin annoys you for it, tell them I said it was okay."

Cora smiled brightly at me, "Thank you, Madame Candie. Thank you."

She exited the room, and the girls helping in the kitchen followed her. The last one leaving was Broomhilda, but I stopped her quickly. I grabbed her arm gently and brought her next to me, and said, "You can't keep looking at Django. Lara or Stephen, even Calvin, might notice it. It's too risky, Broomhilda."

"I know. I'm sorry." Broomhilda squeaked, "I just, I can't help it, Madame Candie. I haven't seen Django in so long, I just..."

She was stammering. She was really nervous, and I felt bad for her. I took her hand.

"It's okay," I soothed, "Just be more careful. Calvin's smarter than we realize."

In an instant, Calvin came walking into the kitchen, strutting in with a serious expression on his face. Broomhilda looked down when he entered the kitchen out of respected for the master of the house, and she excused herself, giving me a quick look and then exiting into the foyer outside.

"Speak of the devil..." I muttered under my breath.

"What you doin' in here, darlin'?" He asked, his right eyebrow arched, "You know I was just jokin', don't ya?"

I looked at him knowingly, "Sure you were, Calvin."

"Gwen, why are you bein' like this? Especially in front of our guests and our customers?" He asked, "I mean darlin', I love your feistiness and all, but you've been so fussy lately. I don't know if it's the hormones or whatever, but if I say one thing and ya lose your temper. You get so easily upset. I'm sorry if I said somethin' you didn't like, Gwen. Really, I am. I just want ya to be happy, that's all."

I stared at him for a minute.

Calvin Candie was apologizing to me. My husband, who never apologized, who always pretended he wasn't the reason why I cried or was upset, was really apologizing to me. Maybe he was trying to stop fighting with me for a change, just how I had been thinking. Maybe things with Calvin were going to go smooth after all. Maybe the two of us raising a baby would go much better than I envisioned it. Maybe he would make a good father to our baby if he was willing to change.

"You're apologizing?" I asked, "To _me_? You're seriously apologizing? You _never_ apologize."

He looked a bit impatient, given that he had just caved and said he sorry, yet I was making him repeat it. His blue eyes bared into mine, and he exhaled. "_Yes_, Gwendolyn. I'm apologizin' to you."

When he called me Gwendolyn, which was very rarely, I knew he was being serious and he wanted me to pay attention to what he was saying.

I felt bad that I had blown up at him. He hadn't really done anything that terrible at dinner besides make fun of the place where I was from, but that wasn't a sin. I looked at him and his handsome face. I always had a hard time staying furious or irritated with Calvin for too long. He had this handsome face and this charm about him that made my knees tremble and my cheeks blush. When he was being sensitive and gentle, like he was now, it was a rare occurrence. I never took it for granted, either.

"It's okay," I sighed, "It's okay. I forgive you, Calvin. I just, I don't know. I've just been really upset lately. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have blown up at you like that. I need to work on it. Really, I do." I ran a hand through my hair.

He snaked his hands around my hips, looking at me like the snake he was, his charming blue eyes searching mine. He looked worried about me. When he looked at me like that, he made me feel like the luckiest woman on the planet.

I remember when I first met Calvin, my mother kept saying how lucky I was to be taken under the wing of a man so powerful and wealthy. I remembered scoffing at her, not believing that she matched me up with a crazy fuck like Calvin. Yet, when I first saw him I couldn't believe how handsome he was and how charming he was, smoking a cigarette and glancing at me with those bright blue eyes that were hard to avoid. He was contagious, and instantly I knew what my mother was talking about. I was in his sights the instant he met me. He didn't care that I wasn't a Southern belle with a charming accent and expensive attributes, and I guess I liked that.

I knew he was trouble when he walked into my life. He bowed to me, gave me a smug yet charming grin, and kissed my hand.

The rest is history.

He was so handsome, so charming. It was hard not to be attracted to him.

He would support me no matter what. He was the father of my baby. He was Calvin, and right at that moment I realized I wouldn't want to be with anyone else. The fighting made our relationship stronger, and I realized that I really loved him without a doubt.

"I love you, Gwen." Calvin said, his expression serious, "Even if ya think I'm a heartless bastard."

It was so weird. I had these moments where I just loved him unconditionally and I would laugh at someone if they suggested otherwise. Then there were moments were I hated him so much that I was ready to pack my things and leave his plantation and never look back. I really wanted to change that. I wanted to always feel like the plantation with Calvin was my home, not just sometimes. I wanted the times we had sex to be loving, not aggressive and hateful like when the baby was conceived.

I wanted to always love Calvin, not just sometimes.

I stared at him.

"I love you, too." I choked out in a whisper.

He leaned in and kissed me. It was a genuine kiss, with passion, but gentle. I pressed my mouth to his and held the back of his neck while we kissed. A kiss with Calvin hadn't been this genuine in a while.

Still, in the back of my mind I still remembered what he had done earlier in the day, slaughtering D'Artagnan while he begged for his life. Flashes of the poor slave being ripped apart were suddenly flashing in my mind, and I broke away from Calvin.

He looked at me and said, offering his arm to me, "Will ya come on back to dinner, Gwen?" I nodded, giving him a feeble smile. I reached out and accepted his arm, snaking it around my own. Little did he know, I was helping Django and Broomhilda.

I loved him.

Yet, I was stabbing him in the back in front of his very eyes.

**Reviews would be lovely!**


	10. TEN

_To my lovely readers, I sincerely apologize for the lack of updating. School was insane and finals are awful.  
I'll be updating regularly, and I hope you are still interested in this story!  
Here's chapter ten! Let me know what you think! Thank you!_

**TEN**

Crickets were chirping in the summer Mississippi night as I took my seat next to Calvin again, him guiding me into the dining room with his hand clutched around my hip.

Before he sat down, he squeezed my shoulders lovingly, then leaned down and kissed my cheek.

Lara glared at me as her brother gave me affection. She was still infuriated that Calvin had impregnated me and that I was now carrying the daughter or son of Calvin. It was tearing her up inside knowing that there was no turning back. Calvin loved me and I loved him, no matter how violent or disturbing our relationship became or was; we were having a baby together, and there was no turning back. Lara could not try to set Calvin up with one of her snooty, mean, Southern belle friends of hers anymore. Calvin was my husband, just as I was his wife, and there was no turning back from here.

I smiled a little bit at him, and I watched him as he straightened up the cuffs of his shirt and cleared his throat, sitting beside me once more. His stubbed-out cigarette was still smoldering on one of our China plates, a beautiful China set given to us by Calvin's parents as a wedding gift. The little stream of smoke danced in the air.

I sometimes felt like the most privileged and proud young woman in the world, being married to Calvin Candie. He was handsome, unimaginably wealthy, he had the biggest and most valuable plantation in Mississippi, and wanted to spoil me. He was infamous in Mississippi and everyone in the South seemed to love him.

Yet, I didn't fit.

"I'm sorry for the interruption, gentlemen. Now, where were we?" Calvin said, smiling pleasantly and reaching an arm around me, "I believe we were discussin' the purchase of my Mandingos."

I looked at Django and Schultz, shifting my eyes to them to tell them to _make this believable_ without actually speaking the words.

"We were sayin' that Eskimo Joe is a quality nigga," Django said cooly, "No doubt about it. But if it was my money, I wouldn't pay no twelve thousand dollars for 'im."

Schultz looked at Django, "Then what would your price be?"

"To be generous, nine thousand. _Maybe_." Django said, with a bit of arrogance in his voice.

I looked a little to Broomhilda, who looked at Django with nervousness. They needed to be careful, looking at each other like that. My biggest fear was that Stephen was going to notice their perpetual exchanging looks and know right away that something was up.

I looked to Calvin, who ran a hand down his goatee and scoffed a bit, giving Schultz a smug little smile. "Dr. Schultz, may I remind you how this little—uh—_negotiation_ process works. You see, it wasn't _me_ who came to _you_ to sell a nigga. It was _you_ who approached _me_ to buy one. Now, that nine thousand dollar figure that Bright Boy's been proposin' ain't that far off. But if I wanted to sell Eskimo Joe for that, I could do so any day of the week."

Stephen was occasionally chiming in and agreeing with Calvin, as always. There wasn't a person I distrusted more on the plantation than Stephen. He rubbed me the wrong way, and I would never, ever forgive him for telling on me the night that Calvin raped me. Stephen was a seedy, mean and scary man, who betrayed his own race and kissed Calvin's ass more than Lara and Calvin's friends did.

"But like you said in Greenville, Doctor, I don't wanna sell him. It was your_ ridiculous_ offer of twelve thousand dollars than even made me consider it." Calvin snarled, lighting up his cigarette and inhaling deeply, blowing out the smoke through his nose.

"You know, Monsieur Candie," Schultz said, pretending to think, "You really _are_ the master of persuasion."

Calvin gave a devilish smirk with his cigarette and it's holder hanging out of his mouth. It was the same look he gave me the night I met him and the deal was sealed that we would be married; it was the malicious look that he knew he had won. It gave me chills down my spine. It reminded me of everything my husband was, and just hoe much of a slimy bastard he was. That look of narcissism, triumph, and malice. In my marriage to Calvin, there was always pressure to go on or retreat at every turn. I always felt like the weight of the world was on my shoulders. Calvin's malice and maniacal tendencies put so much stress on me.

"Nevertheless, I'll do it!" Schultz said, happily slamming his fist on the table, "It's a deal."

Calvin grinned, the cigarette tight between his teeth. He slammed his fist on the table, startling me. "Sold! To the man with the beard."

"Wonderful!" Schultz exclaimed, "However, twelve thousand dollars is a great sum of money...and as I can see, you have a lawyer, and I have a lawyer. Now I would feel more comfortable if my lawyer was to draw up a contract, as I don't know if I'm comfortable with exchanging _that _amount of money without legal documentation. Say I would return in...five days?"

"Five days?" Calvin repeated, holding up a hand and blowing out more smoke.

"Yes, and I will bring my lawyer who can talk with Mr. Moguy. They can sort out the details, all the technicalities, all that." Schultz said, waving his hand about absentmindedly, as if the subject matter was petty.

"To that I say splendid, Doctor." Calvin said, a serious look on his handsome face, "Splendid."

Calvin tapped the end of his cigarette on the China plate, the ash falling from the smoldering end and falling on the flawless China. He smirked and raised his champagne glass, "Let me propose a toast. To Eskimo Joe—or rather, Black Hercules."

I didn't want to toast to the selling of a slave or a Mandingo, but I needed to play along; I needed to act along with Schultz and Django. I bit my lip and put on the best acted smile that I could, and lifted my flute of water, and clashed it with Calvin. He smiled a little and winked at me, his bright blue eyes watching me intently. When he looked at me like that I always felt like I was squirming around in my skin; he was looking at me with genuine love and something else. _Happiness_.

Calvin set his champagne glass down on the cherry wood dinner table, and curled me to him in his arms again. Calvin smirked a little and looked to Broomhilda, "Broomhilda, top off me and Gwen's drink."

Without making eye contact with him, Broomhilda silently took the jug of wine from the side table and poured red wine into Calvin's class. She retrieved the jug of water and did the same for me, and Calvin looked at her with what I sensed was arrogance.

"So, Hildie. What do you think, servin' at the big table and in the big house, huh?" Calvin said, looking up at her with his intimidating blue eyes. Broomhilda looked to me, not quite positive if she should answer my husband or not, looking to me for the solution.

"_Madame_ Candie didn't ask you a question, _Monsieur_ Candie did. You answer the question if Monsieur Candie asks you one." Stephen snapped, standing beside Calvin and I as we sat at the table. I glared at little at Stephen, but he didn't catch my glare.

"I—I like it a lot, Monsieur Candie." Broomhilda squeaked, smiling a little in order to please Calvin.

Calvin grinned, twirling a strand of my blond hair affectionately with the hand that was around my shoulders, "Good, good. It's a lot better than sizzlin' in that hot box, or gettin' your ass tangled in that bramble bush. Not as good as pleasurin' all them Mandingos, huh?"

"_Calvin_." I hissed.

Before Calvin could defend himself, Stephen hobbled over to Broomhilda, and said, "Monsieur Candie, maybe Dr. Shultz wants 'ta see Hildie's lashings on her back, seein' as there aren't many niggas from he comes from."

"Dr. Schultz," Calvin smirked, "When you were alone with Broomhildie here, did ya'll just speak German or did ya—" Calvin tapped the lower front of Broomhilda's dress, "—take her clothes off?"

"No, no! W—we just talked." Schultz said, baffled at being questioned.

Django looked infuriated, boiling angry. His eyes were set on Calvin, in his mind calculating how fast and easy it would be to put a bullet in Calvin's heart right now.

"_Calvin_!" I snapped, "_Stop it. _That's humiliating."

"_What_, Gwen? I'm just showin' the good doctor what he might wanna see. Stephen's right, Dr. Schultz. You might find this interestin'." Calvin said, and clapped his hands together and looked at Broomhilda, "Hildie, take off your dress now. Take off your dress and show Dr. Schultz your back, ya here? Go on."

Stephen began untying the back of Broomhilda's black and white housemaid dress, and she was trembling. Tears glassed over her venerable eyes. I felt my heart throbbing in humiliation for Broomhilda, and I looked to Django. He was staring at Broomhilda, then to Calvin, with unbelievable hatred and fury. I opened with my mouth to speak, but Lara's fake, sweet voice interrupted me.

"Calvin, I just got her dressed up and lookin' nice." Lara commented.

"Dr. Schultz is from Dusselldorf. They don't got niggas from where he's from." Calvin said. "He's a man of medicine. I'm sure he'd be impressed and fascinated by this nigga's tolerance for pain These niggas are tough, Dr. Schultz. Look here, Hildie's got about five peelings here on her back. Look at that, it's like a paintin'!."

Calvin traced the scars with his forefinger.

Broomhilda's expression was of pure humiliation, embarrassment and sadness, as Stephen swirled her around and revealed her back. Whip scars scattered her back, deep lashings that looked painful and downright torturous. I grimaced. I could feel my blood boiling under my skin, infuriation seeping up into my veins and to my flesh. Calvin was barbaric, inhumane and degrading. I snapped.

"_Calvin_!" I shouted, standing up. The whole table looked alarmed. I glared at my husband, "That's goddamn _degrading_. I don't want to see her scarred back and neither does anyone else at this table. It's embarrassing."

Calvin stared at me with raised eyebrows, surprised at my outburst as always. He released Broomhilda hesitantly, not taking his eyes off of me. Calvin gave me a long, grudging stare and then looked to Stephen. "Fine. Fine. After dinner, Stephen. After dinner. It's what Gwen wants."

"_Cora_!" Lara shouted, her voice cruel. "Come get this girl!"

Cora came walking out of the kitchen, the door swinging behind her. She glanced at Broomhilda and gasped at her bare, open back. "What have you done, girl? You were all cleaned up and nice! Come over here!" Cora scolded.

"Cora, it isn't her fault." I said, "She didn't do it on purpose."

Cora paused, then looked at me and nodded. "I understand, Madame Candie. I understand."

Cora whisked Broomhilda out of the dining room and into the kitchen, Stephen following. I was about to follow them into the kitchen to assure that Broomhilda was okay and that Stephen would not harass her; to check in with her to reminder her to stay calm, but Calvin stopped me. My hand was on the door, as I was about to push the swinging, cherry wood door to the kitchen open.

"Sit your pretty ass down, Gwendolyn." Calvin snapped without looking around at me. His voice was stern and serious, and I knew that I better obey.

_So much for our talk in the __kitchen earlier_, I thought.

"You and our baby better rest, darlin'. Don't cha think?" He asked, but what Calvin really meant—but didn't dare say in front of guests and customers—was _get_ _your ass on that seat and shut that goddamn nigger-loving mouth or I'll shut it for ya, darlin'._ _  
_

I stopped, my hand sliding down from the door. I hesitantly returned to my seat at the dinner table, exchanging nervous looks with Schultz and Django. I adjusted myself and my dress on the chair and looked down at my lap, where Calvin had a grip on my thigh possessively. I was like his own personal slave_._

Schultz cleared his throat, "Now, Monsieur Candie, I believe you said earlier that you'd be willing to part with Hildie?"

Calvin nodded, smiling calmly, and tapped his smoldering cigarette on the China dish. "Yes, I most certainly did."

"Then I would like to propose another proposition." Schultz said excitedly, luring Calvin right into his trap.

"I'm all ears," Calvin said, inhaling from his cigarette. But before the conversation continued and the trap would be set for my husband, Stephen entered the room again, shouting at someone in the kitchen over his shoulder, then calling Calvin's name.

"_Stephen_!" Calvin growled, "You just interrupted Dr. Schultz!"

Stephen looked at the doctor, "I apologize, Dr. Schultz. But look here, Calvin, I gotta talk to you in the kitchen."

"What the hell could be so melodramatic that would need me to get up out of my chair and go into the goddamn kitchen?" Calvin snapped, glaring up at Stephen.

"It's...it's about desert." Stephen said hesitantly, "I'd rather talk about it in private."

"What about desert?" Calvin scoffed, "We're serving white cake, for Christ's sake. Stop bein' overdramatic, Stephen."

"Yes sir, Monsieur Candie. I'll take care of it. I'll handle it myself." Stephen said loudly for Schultz and Django to hear, but then muttered so only Calvin heard, "Meet me in the library."

I heard Stephen murmur this to Calvin. The hair on the back of my neck raised in fear and anxiety, and I knew. Stephen _knew_, or at least, he was suspicious. Calvin stopped being annoyed at Stephen for a moment, and looked at Stephen with curiosity. Calvin exhaled the cigarette smoke through his nose, wondering to himself why Stephen wanted to see him so urgently.

"I don't understand why you don't come talk to these niggers. Shit gets fucked up around here and you blame me." Stephen mumbled grumpily.

"Alright, Stephen, alright. I'll be along momentarily." Calvin said, putting a palm up, watching the head slave exit the dining room and disappear into the kitchen.

Calvin looked to Schultz and Django, and stood up. "Now, gentlemen, as talented as they may be in the kitchen, you must understand that—from time to time—adult supervision is required." He added a charming, light laugh. "So, if you will excuse me."

Calvin turned and pressed his mouth to mine. He encompassed me with his scent—expensive cologne, cigarette smoke, and bourbon. At that moment I wanted to just get away with Calvin and not be entangled in this mess of betraying him. I wanted everyone to go away—just me and him, living on this plantation as husband and wife, no one else. No Stephen, no Lara, no slaves, no one but the two of us. Why was that such a difficult thing to do? I wanted to be out of this mess, without anyone getting hurt in the process—not only Django, Schultz and Broomhilda—but Calvin, too.

"I'll be back, sweetheart." Calvin said. He cupped my chin in his hand and looked down at me, giving me a small smile. He dropped his hand and exited the dining room, strutting through the kitchen door and disappearing.

I looked at Schultz and Django, worriedly exchanging looks with them.

Stephen was suspicious—and he was about to tell Calvin.

I stood up quickly. I threw my napkin on the China dish and sauntered out of the dining room, making my way to the kitchen and walking out into the main foyer. I walked to the door of Calvin's library. I stood before the doors, my hands on the handles. I stopped when I heard Stephen's voice through the wooden door.

"Them niggers know it each other. Calvin, you're bein' played a fool."

My eyes widened, my ears pressed to the door. There was a silence, then Calvin snapped.

"Sons of_ bitches_."

**Please review? They inspire me!**


	11. ELEVEN

_Hi readers! Here's a bit of a change. I'm giving an insight to Calvin and Gwen BEFORE _Django Unchained.  
_I've mentioned a bunch of events that happened between them in past chapters, so I thought that_  
_it would be interesting to do a "flashback" chapter. I hope you like it! I'm working on the next one already, where we'll go_  
_back to the present and the impending violence & drama. Hope you like it!_  
_Please review - it inspires me!_

**ELEVEN**

"Mother, I can't go through with this. I don't...I don't even know if I love him."

I stared at myself in the mirror in the upstairs guest room in the Candie plantation. It was a hot July evening, around five o'clock. The sun was impatiently hanging in the sky through the willow trees in the backyard and creating a pinkish, orange sky with stringy clouds to accompany them. I stared at my reflection. Staring back at me was a very young woman. My expression was terrified, my eyes were blurred over with tears. A beautiful summer wedding gown clung to my figure, white with lace that showed off my shoulder. My veil hung behind me, with a necklace that Calvin bought me as a wedding gift. My hair was curled to fall in blond ringlets. I looked like a doll; a girl who was dressed as someone she really wasn't. I didn't even recognize myself in the reflection. I hated the tight feeling of the corset that wrapped around my torso. The dress was given to me as a present from Calvin's parents, as my family could never afford a dress like this one. Not even if we sold our tin box apartment in back in Boston.

Cora was straightening out my dress for me, and a few of the house slaves were helping me with my hair. They were getting me ready to wed their master, the monster of Mississippi, the master of the house. My mother excused the girls, and I thanked them quietly. It was just my mother and I in the beautiful guest room that Calvin's family had prepared for us.

My mother's reflection stood next to me in the mirror, and she grabbed my shoulders, bringing me to look at her. She looked like me a bit; I'd gotten her eyes, while I'd gotten my father's blond hair. My mother looked at me lovingly, the wrinkles around her kind eyes crinkling at the sides when she gave me a sad smile. She was greying, getting older.

"Sweetheart, I know this isn't easy. But Calvin's a good man. He'll love you, take care of you. You'll never run out of money. You'll never have to worry again about clothes, or food, or if you'll have a roof over your head at night. He owns this plantation, Gwendolyn, and he's in love with you. He's dying to marry you." My mother said, cupping a hand to my cheek tenderly.

I looked away, really trying not to let my older mother see tears brimming my eyes, "Calvin isn't a good man."

My mother tightened the corset's strings.

"Gwendolyn, please." She said weakly, "I know you don't love him, not yet. But you will, in time. Please, give Calvin a chance. He would give you the world if he could."

"He owns slaves." I choked out quietly. "You know how vile that really is? It's inhuman. It's disgusting! He think's he's so charming, I can see right through—"

"_Gwendolyn Dawson_!" My mother snapped, but closed her eyes, trying to stay patient with me. "I know, I know. You're going to have to live with it, sweetheart. I'm sorry. This marriage is going to change the rest of your life. You're going to be with a charming, loving and extremely successful man who wants nothing more than to make you happy. You will marry Calvin. Any girls your age would_ kill_ to be Calvin Candie's wife. He's one of the wealthiest men in Mississippi, if not _the_ wealthiest."

"I'm not _any_ girl." I muttered, but my mother didn't hear me. She was too busy making the finishing touches to my appearance so I would be ready for Calvin, tugging the corset strings, making it harder to breathe.

I felt like I was drowning.

I looked to my right, out the massive bay window out to the backyard. The wedding was beginning.

As I descended down the staircase, I clutched the bannister with a death grip.

I felt my heart beating loud, throbbing in my chest with anxiety. I was flanked by my mother and three house maids, helping me down the grand staircase with my wedding dress. My mother left me in the dining room, where I was to wait until the music played and I was to walk down the aisle. My mother went ahead to get her seat up front for the wedding. The house maids went back to their duties, as they weren't allowed at the wedding.

I stood in the dining room alone, in my beautiful wedding dress.

I felt like I was going to die. My life was flashing before my eyes. I was so young and I was being married off to a man who I didn't know, a rich Southerner with a handsome face that any girl would murder to be with. I was almost positive that his sister hated me, the way Lara Candie-Fitzwilly looked at me when Calvin announced that he and I would be married a few nights prior. Everything was going too fast.

Calvin was so handsome and so charming. He made me weak in the knees, but I couldn't get over his enthusiasm for slavery.

I felt myself buckle under the anxiety, and I choked out a sob. I put a hand over my eyes and cried, cupping both my hands over my face. I let out a wail. Now that I was alone, my emotions couldn't control themselves. I was crying, hard. If only I could see myself.

A young woman, crying alone on her wedding day.

I must've been loud, because Cora came into the room. She looked appalled that I was crying; she quickly entered the room and shut the doors securely behind her. She rushed in, coming to my side and grasping my forearms, "Miss Dawson, don't cry now. Don't you cry. It's your weddin' day. Ya'll should be happy."

I sniffled, choking out another sob, "I can't do it, Cora. I can't marry Calvin. I can't marry him."

"Aw, come now, Miss Dawson." Cora soothed, "Don't ya think like that. Monsieur Candie's gonna take real good care of you, ma'am."

"Everything's just happening too quick." I choked out, my breath quick and uneven between sobs, "I'm afraid."

Cora looked me in the eyes, taking both my hands in hers, "Don't ya be afraid, Miss Dawson. It ain't easy, ma'am, but this is your weddin'. You're gonna be just fine. Please don't cry. You're a beautiful woman and Monsieur Candie is lucky to have a nice lady like you be his wife."

I looked at her, my expression sad but my eyes hopeful, "Really?"

"Yes ma'am. You're gonna be just fine. Now don't you cry no more, Miss Dawson. You look real beautiful. You don't want to ruin your makeup, now." Cora said gently, giving me a gentle smile. The bridalI nodded, wiping my tear-stained cheeks with the back of my palm. I inhaled, "Thank you so much, Cora. I can't tell you how much it means for someone to tell me something comforting. Everyone just keeps pushing me in every direction. I feel like I don't know where I'm going, and I'm terrified."

Cora nodded respectfully, "Yes, ma'am."

The bridal march began playing outside. I looked up worriedly, and Cora nodded at me, "Go on. Everythin's gonna be fine, Miss Dawson."

I inhaled deeply. I walked out of the dining room with new confidence. Calvin was the man I was going to marry, whether I liked it or not. I loved him, or at least, I was beginning to. The way he would look at me with those blue eyes, or the scent of cigarette smoke, bourbon and cologne. He was ready to give me everything, and I was ready to give myself to him. He was the man I was going to marry.

The doors leading out to the massive backyard opened for me, the ushers opening them. I stepped outside, and my brother, Aaron, leaned his arm out for me like the gentleman he was. Since my father had died when I was young, and Aaron being the only other male in the family, he was going to give me away.

Aaron was the eldest sibling at thirty. He was my best friend and my brother. He had helped raise me while growing up, and now that we were adults, it felt surreal. He had my father's handsome face and curly brown hair. He was strikingly handsome, and he flashed me a sweet smile once I appeared. I smiled sadly and hooked my arm around his.

Outside, it was beautiful. The "altar" was by the massive willow tree outside, the plantation spanning far behind it.

The willow tree hung close to the ground, creating a canopy. The green grass was beautifully trimmed and watered for the wedding, and rows upon rows of white chairs were lined up for the guests of the Candie/Dawson wedding. The sun hung in the sky, the sunset warm in the Mississippi summer evening. A mild wind whispered between the trees, causing the willows to flow in the air beautifully. Everyone in the audience turned to look at Calvin Candie's Northern bride as she walked down the aisle with her Yankee brother.

There were around a hundred and fifty people at the wedding.

Calvin's business partners, many friends, associates, and the uppity societies he belonged to. Every one of them were Southerners. My family and I were the only Northerners, sticking out like a sore thumb. My three sisters and mother sat on the bride's side, which was empty besides them. Calvin's side was crowded with people, most notably his mother and sister. Lara glared at me as I walked down the aisle.

My face felt hot, like I was going to faint right here on the spot. I could see it now: July 24, 1858, I faint on my wedding day. I guessed that it was the anxiety, corset unforgivingly pressing against my breasts, and the stress of walking down the aisle that was making me feel so hot. But I feigned a smile and clutched onto Aaron's arm tightly.

"You look so beautiful, Gwen." My brother leaned in and whispered in my ear gently, "Don't be so nervous."

I looked up and smiled at him. I turned away from Aaron, and noticed that we were a few steps away from the altar. Calvin stood there, looking more handsome than I ever had seen. He was naturally handsome with those striking blue eyes, handsome face, slender body and masculine aura. He wore a suit and was clean shaven, his smile kind and for once without a cigarette holder in his hand. He and I made eye contact, and he smiled a bit wider. It was so genuine, it made my heart drop into my stomach.

Aaron stopped, and I realized he was giving me away to Calvin. Aaron smiled at me, a bit of nostalgia for our childhood in his eyes, and kissed my forehead. He let me go, and took his seat beside my mother and sisters. I stood before Calvin and the priest, an elderly man with kind eyes

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here tonight on this beautiful summer evening to join Calvin and Gwendolyn in the vows of everlasting love." The priest said, "We are privileged to witness the joyous love of a new family; a family that will be nourished and nurtured through the devotion of two separate individuals growing together through the common bonds of love. May their marriage bring them the peace, joy, comfort and contentment that is known in the hearts of all God's children."

Calvin smiled at me. I smiled weakly back at him.

"The vows you are about to exchange, will serve as a verbal representation of the non-verbal emotions that are as real as anything that can be seen, heard or touched.  
For it is not the words that you will speak today that will bond you together as one - but the strength of the love and commitment found deep within your souls." The priest read, then looked up to Calvin. "Calvin, your vows?"

Calvin cleared his throat, and took out a small piece of paper from his suit's chest pocket and inhaled, and read. "Gwen...though life may not always be as perfect as you want it, I vow to always keep my love as pure as it is today. I promise to be there for you in your laughter and your tears, in your sickness and your health, in your comfort and your fears, in your poverty and your wealth. In sickness, I will nurse you back to health. In health, I will encourage you on your path. In sadness, I will help you to remember happiness. In happiness, I will be there make to memories with you. In poverty, I will do all that I can to make our love rich. And in wealth, I will never let our love grow poor. When you need someone to encourage you, I want it to be me. I promise to be there for you for all your life, come what may."

I stared at him, tears hazing over my eyes. I was wrong about Calvin.

"Gwendolyn, your vows, please." The priest said quietly.

I nodded, quickly reaching into a fold of my wedding dress and extracting the little piece of paper my vows were scribbled on. I briefly glanced to everyone sitting in the chairs, all one hundred and fifty, watching me judgmentally, watching the poor little Northern girl marry the wealthy, handsome Southern plantation owner. They probably thought I was some sort of gold digger, that I was only marrying Calvin for his money. So many women wanted Calvin to marry them, and I didn't. I was reluctant, and I was the minority in that opinion. I felt everyone's eyes on me as I read my vows.

"Calvin, I will love you until the end of time. I would wait a million years for you. Promise you'll remember that you're mine, and that throughout our lives we will never part. Despite any differences, fights, and sadness, remember that you will always be mine and I will always be yours. I will always tell you that no matter what you do I'll be by your side, because whether you fall or you fly at least you've tried. I love you, and I will always be there for you, until the end of time." I exhaled, trembling.

"At this time, I'll ask you, Calvin, and you, Gwendolyn, to face each other & take each other's hands." The elderly priest croaked. Calvin reached for my hands and grasped them in his own. He looked at me.

"Calvin Candie, will you take Gwendolyn Dawson to be your wife, your partner in life and your one true love? Will you cherish her friendship and love her today, tomorrow and forever? Will you trust and honor her, laugh with her and cry with her? Will you be faithful through good times and bad, in sickness and in health as long as you both shall live?" The priest asked.

"I will." Calvin said, his blue eyes not leaving my own, "I, Calvin, take Gwendolyn to be my wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part, according to God's holy ordinance."

He carefully slid the wedding ring on my finger.

"And Gwendolyn Dawson, will you take Calvin Candie to be your husband, your partner in life and your one true love? Will you cherish his friendship and love him today, tomorrow and forever? Will you trust and honor him, laugh with him and cry with him? Will you be faithful through good times and bad, in sickness and in health as long as you both shall live?" THe priest asked.

"I will." I said, squeezing Calvin's hands, "I, Gwendolyn, take Calvin to be my wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part, according to God's holy ordinance."

I placed Calvin's ring on his finger, my own hands visibly trembling.

"And in this ceremony of exchanging of vows and joining the Dawson and Candie families, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may now kiss the bride." The priest said.

My young face looked at Calvin, giving him a bright, hopeful smile.

"I love you, darlin'." Calvin said. Before I responded, he leaned in and kissed me, the most genuine and loving kiss I've ever been given. It was tender, gentle, and passionate. I kissed him back, and everyone in the audience clapped. It was the kiss that made me really fall in love with him, the kiss that made me believe that he was different, the kiss that charmed me into marrying trouble in human form. It was the kiss that made me fall in love with the monster, the master of the house, the abusive man I've come to love.

While I kissed Calvin, I sold my freedom to him.

I sealed my fate.


End file.
